


The Bringer of War

by MadisonTheGeek



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, POV Third Person, Possessed Dean Winchester, Possession, Post-Season/Series 13, Season/Series 14, Swearing, Worried Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 69,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25166737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadisonTheGeek/pseuds/MadisonTheGeek
Summary: Now that the archangel Michael has made it to a new world and taken possession of Dean Winchester, he can begin to put his plans in motion for a new world order. Meanwhile, the rest of the Winchester group search restlessly for the missing Dean and slowly being to unravel Michael's plans.
Comments: 85
Kudos: 25





	1. Reaping Prophets

**Author's Note:**

> A re-imagine/rewrite of season 14 with more of a focus on Michael and Dean, less on Jack, and no Nick or Lucifer.

_Twenty-eight days since Dean was taken by Michael_

Happy Days Nursing Home was quiet at the late hour. Outside, the rain fell down lightly but within, all the patients were settled in their hospital beds. The well-dressed man’s footsteps echoed down the still hall. He sauntered through them, giving off the aroma of elegance and arrogance as if he was some god and no one would get in his way.

“Hey!” A voice came from down the corridor. 

The man stopped, turning to the being that would dare interrupt his work. He moved slowly and carefully, moving with the air instead of against it, as if he was a part of the environment around him. His fierce eyes settled on the young male nurse that had called from farther down the hall. “Who are you?” The nurse came closer until he stood right next to the god-like being. “You can’t be in here now.”

The sides of the unknown man’s lips turned up. It was a soft, small, and entirely inorganic movement. He lifted his arm.

“Hey! What’re you doing?” The young nurse called, leaning back from the man’s outstretched hand. Despite his attempts to get away, the man’s two fingers touched his forehead anyway. The moment they made contact the nurse fell to the floor. The well-dressed man, Michael, turned on his heel and continued down the boring white halls.

At last he reached the room he was looking for. Nothing about it stood out, it had the same blank and dull white door as all the other rooms in the building, left open slightly so the staff could easily get in and out. He softly slipped inside as if he was nothing but the shadow of a ghost.

The inside was just as ordinary and pathetic as the outside, at least that’s what Michael assessed once he slipped through the door. He had spent a month in this world, and all he had seen was disappointment after disappointment. This nursing home was no different. It was the place that the humans came to wither away. Taking nothing and leaving nothing in their pathetic little lives.

When Michael had first heard of this other realm he had seen it as an island of hope. The longer he stayed there the more he realized that this hope was a ruse. This land was starved by a creator that had neglected his creations and farther ripped apart by the stupidity of the driveling humans. The old man that lay in the hospital bed was no different.

With the access of the knowledge and memories of Dean Winchester, the man Michael was possessing, Michael knew this old man in the hospital was considered a prophet; a reciter of the “Word of God”.

Michael could never understand his father’s need for prophets. All those years ago, back when his father was actually attentive, Michael would never have disobeyed him. He would never have even thought of voicing his doubts to his great father. That, however, was a long time ago, longer than most living beings could even comprehend. He was long past yielding to his father’s flawed ideas. He had grown up and realized that his father was nothing more than a dreamer - a _writer_ \- but never someone who went through with their big plans. His father abandoned him one too many times, now it was his turn to show off what he could do. It was his turn to rule the world.

Unfortunately, Michael would have to build up from where God had left. He had once tried to make the world by tearing it down first, but that did not turn out well. This time, he would build atop what was already there. He would succeed where God failed. This was his second chance, he was not going to let it get away.

In the prophet’s hospital room all was calm. The sound of the rain dribbling on the roof and the methodic beeps from the machines keeping the prophet alive created a tranquil environment. Michael, however, was hindered by another, much harsher, sound: a screaming inside his head. 

Dean Winchester’s constant yelling and fighting was unfailingly annoying. When Michael first overpowered Dean, he had been expecting it. The vessels he took over usually fought him. Although they had willingly let him in, eventually they figured out being possessed by an angel was not exactly what they thought it would be. Not long after they began their fighting, they gave it up and submitted to Michael’s power. They got pushed so far back into their subconscious cages that they simply faded away. Dean was different; he simply refused to sit down, shut up, and let Michael work.

Somehow Michael felt like Dean knew what he had come here to do. It was impossible, Dean couldn’t see, hear, or even know anything beyond that black void that he was submerged in. Despite this, Michael was sure Dean had gotten more riled up since he entered the hospital. 

Michael looked outside the window in the room. As he watched the rain start to come down harder an idea struck him. He walked closer to the window. The lights from inside the prophet’s room gave Michael a murky reflection. Michael closed his eyes, concentrating for a moment, and when he opened them again, the reflection staring back at him was not entirely his own. He was still staring at the same square-jawed and handsome face, but the reflection's face was printed with anger that lacked in Michael’s _own_. Not only that, but the mirrored image was also panting heavily as though it had received air for the first time in a long time.

The reflection sneered at Michael. When it spoke it did so through a clenched jaw, hissing the words, “Let. Me. Out.”

Michael chuckled. “Oh, Dean. Why would I do that?”

“You can’t. I’ll stop you.”

A smirk illuminated Michael’s face. “Come on, Dean. You sold yourself to me. I own you now and trust me when I say, you are never getting out.” Michael looked to the brain-dead prophet, forcing Dean to look too.

“No,” Dean breathed the word when he realized who was lying in the bed and what they had come to do.

“That’s right, Dean. You see, you fight me, so, so hard, but when they’re dead, when all your friends and family have been killed with your hands, you won’t fight me anymore. You’ll be complacent, because I’ll-” Michael shrugged. “Well, I’ll be the only thing you have left.”

Dean stared at Michael in horror, but Michael turned away from the window, pushing his neighbor back into the corners of his mind. Dean fought and screamed and clawed with everything he had, looking for some way out. Michael ignored him.

Michael stood over the hospital bed, over the pathetic prophet. He lifted his hand, placing it on Donatello Redfield’s forehead. In a flash of burning white light, Michael cut the last cord of life that Donatello had.

Dean stopped fighting.

Michael wasn’t sure if it was shock or horror, but Dean had become silent. He was not dumb enough to think Donatello’s death would keep Dean quiet forever. No, the prophet might have been someone Dean knew, but they were not good friends. Dean would recover, and he would begin fighting again. Michael had no doubt that when the people Dean cared about most lay dead at his feet, killed with his own hands, Dean would never fight Michael again. He would simply drift, leaving Michael alone to do whatever he pleased. Michael gave a truly genuine smile. He longed for that peaceful day.

***

_Twenty-nine days since Dean was taken by Michael_

The wooden door of Sam Winchester’s bedroom slowly fell back, hitting its frame with a tiny click as Sam collapsed his giant body on his bed. He sighed heavily, staring at the spinning blades of the ceiling fan. This was the first time in weeks that Sam had a moment to himself. The first time he was not organizing hunts, looking for his brother, making sure Jack was okay, or the hundreds of other things that constantly kept him going.

He barely slept these days. Every now and then he would get a few hours. But those precious couple of hours were often compromised by dreams of a mockingly laughing Lucifer or a brother screaming for help.

After dreaming of Lucifer, Sam would wake with a start, having to remind himself that Lucifer, along with his vessel, was dead and buried. He had even gone back to the grave a couple of times since Lucifer’s demise. It was cathartic seeing the freshly piled dirt, knowing that finally, after all those years, the actual devil was dead and gone.

Comparatively, those were the good nights. Other nights, Sam awoke after hearing his brother’s screams and had to take deep calculated breaths before getting on his phone and researching anything about angels. He searched for Dean until he became so irritated that he buried himself in other work. He had alerts set up to make sure that anything angel-sounding was immediately on their radar. If that did not catch it Cas, Mary, and Jack were constantly on the lookout too. 

Sam rubbed his hands down his face. He had not shaved in a while and his hands caught on the dark rough hair that was growing around his jaw.

It had been a month. A month without Dean. A month with the most powerful archangel in existence missing without any trace. It didn’t make sense. Sam, Cas, Mary, Jack, hell even some of the AU hunters, searched for Michael and yet, with all their combined forces, they still found absolutely nothing. If he was out there, he was keeping an extremely low profile.

Sam grumbled. He knew that in a few moments someone would be knocking on his door looking for him, and he had only come into his room to pick up some files he had left there. Just as he was about to pull himself off his bed, his phone, which lay discarded on the mattress, started ringing. Sam picked it up and gave a puzzled look at the caller ID.

“Yeah?”

“Is this Jimmy Page, Donatello Redfield’s nephew?”

“Um hmm.” Sam was already pushing through the notes, maps, and files on his desk, looking for what he had come into his room for and not paying attention to the woman on the phone.

“This is Detective Mathews. I regret to inform you that your uncle was killed last night.”

Sam stopped. “Killed? Not just died?”

“Unfortunately not, sir.”

“How? Who killed him?” Sam spit the words out at the detective across the line.

“The investigation is still ongoing, sir.”

“Right.” Sam ran his hand down his face once again. His mind was racing, trying to understand who would kill Donatello and if his sudden death was somehow tied to Michael. “I’ll, uh, be there as soon as I can.” Sam hung up the phone before the detective could get another word in edgewise. He knew she probably had more to say, but he was uninterested in dealing with it over the phone. He slipped his cell back into his pocket. Neglecting his table of messy papers, Sam instead picked up the Chevy Impala’s keys as he headed out of the bedroom and down the hall.


	2. One Step Forward

_Twenty-nine days since Dean was taken by Michael_

“Glad you’re here. We could definitely use your help on this.” Detective Matthews was a middle-aged woman with light skin, greying brown hair pulled tightly into a bun, and a stern all-business attitude about her. She addressed Mary and Cas, or rather Agent Lennon and Harrison, as she led them down the small and nearly empty precinct hall.

After coming to what was presumably her desk, the detective reached for her file and put it in Mary’s hands. “Tell me if either of you have seen anything like this.”

Mary opened the file, Cas looked over her shoulder at the picture inside. It was a photo of Donatello’s dead body. His eyes were completely missing. Burned out of the socket. 

“I’m telling you, some freaky shit,” the detective announced with a shake of her head. “I’ve been on the job a long time and I have never seen anything quite like that.”

Mary nodded. Behind her Cas was trying not to look at the picture, after all, it was his fault Donatello was in that home in the first place. It was his fault that he had been brain dead, kept alive by machines. It was very clear that this had been the work of angels, but Cas was still hesitant to outright say this was Michael’s hand.

Since Dean’s disappearance, Cas had followed lead after lead. Anything that possibly resembled angel activity, he was on top of, digging to find any essence of Michael. Unfortunately, there had been absolutely nothing, so he was not too hopeful that this was going to turn up as evidence.

“Do you have any security footage?” Cas’s deep voice boomed.

The detective nodded. “Most of the cameras were fried, but-” She clicked her computer screen to life and began searching. “The one outside caught something.” 

Cas and Mary leaned in as the black and white video began to play. Outside the nursing home it was raining hard, the wind tore through the trees, but the street itself was left untouched by any movement, void of all people and any sign of life. The front doors of Happy Days Nursing Home slid open electronically and out sauntered a man. No, not a man, Michael.

Cas felt every part of his body tense. Michael had dressed Dean in a fine three-piece suit while he pranced around in his body. The sight of it made Cas seeth. Next to him, Mary wasn’t looking at the footage, her eyes had drifted to the top of the computer, her hands in fists.

“Don’t know who he is, but our witness-”

“Witness?” Mary abandoned her safe focus above the computer and looked to the detective.

“Yeah. A nurse there saw this man entering the hospital. He doesn’t know what happened though, said he passed out or something.” The cop shrugged. “So we’ve sent out an APB, bring this guy in for questioning.”

“That’s not going to work.” Cas was staring at the detective with a passive face.

“Excuse me?”

“This all needs to be confiscated by the FBI.”

“Under what premise?”

Matthews was clearly getting annoyed, but Cas stood his ground. “Under the premise that it is part of a federal investigation, and it’s no longer your concern.”

Mary was staring at Cas, slightly surprised. She had never seen the angel be so aggressive while remaining like stone on the outside. She shook off the shock and jumped onboard. “And you need to call off the APB. This case is now confidential. It can’t get out to anyone.”

“This man, this Donatello, his eyes were burned out of his _skull_. Whoever did this is a monster, we have to find him.” Irritation mixed with fear laced the detective's words, her eyes were hard as she stared at the two “FBI” agents in front of her.

“And we will,” Mary assured her.

“I’m sorry but you can’t just take this stuff. You need permission. Paperwork.”

Cas’s mouth had gone flat. “We can have you arrested for interfering with a federal case that is a matter of national security. Or you can give us the video and we can be out of here.”

Once again Mary was staring at the angel, he certainly had the whole FBI persona down. Matthews gave Castiel one last glare, holding his gaze for a moment before she turned back to her computer.

***

The file containing everything the police knew about Donatello’s death landed with a flop on the motel’s tiny table.

The four Winchesters stood around the wooden table. Cas and Mary had finished showing Sam and Jack the footage of Dean… or rather Michael. Whoever it was, the moment Sam saw his brother’s face on the black and white video, something caught in his chest. Then the feeling subsided when Sam realized that for the first time in the four weeks Dean had been missing they finally had something. They were getting close, things were actually starting to look up. But first, they had to figure out the case.

Mary’s finger hit the spacebar of the laptop, pausing the video they had obtained from the police. “Where do you think he’s been all this time? Gone for weeks and now he shows up? Why?”

The group stood there in silence, no one providing an answer.

“Perhaps he was in Heaven. We haven’t looked there after all,” Cas offered.

“I thought Heaven was basically run down?” Sam asked.

“It is. But Michael is an archangel, maybe he plans to fix it.”

“He never really cared about other angels very much. Always saw them more as tools,” Jack, who has known this Michael the best, reminded the group.

“But if he could find power from that he might play a long game and try to put Heaven back together.”

“And Donatello? Why kill him? What purpose does that serve?” Mary questioned. 

Cas thought for a moment. “Like angels, prophets are powerful. Useful weapons in his arsenal. But Donatello was, um, beyond repair.” Cas cleared his throat. “Now that he’s dead the next prophet can come into being.”

“So you think Michael’s after the next prophet?”

Castiel gave a nod. “It would make sense.”

Sam looked to the paused video of his brother, it was haunting in the black and white. “How the hell are we supposed to find the next prophet before Michael does?”


	3. Amherst

_Twenty-nine days since Dean was taken by Michael_

Castiel watched as Jack slept soundly on top of the covers of one of the motel’s beds. He smiled before pulling the blanket folded at the edge of the bed over his son.

Cas never said that out loud, he never actually called him his son, but that is what Jack would always be to him. In all of Cas’s years, he had never felt the way he felt about Jack. There was something about his young eyes, the way he asked questions, trying to soak up as much information as he could. Cas loved Sam and Dean, they were his friends, his family, and he wanted to protect them, but it was different with Jack. He didn’t want to just protect Jack, he wanted to care for him, guide him through life, and help him understand his purpose.

The last month had been hard. Jack blamed himself for losing Dean in that church. More than that, Jack was convinced that if only he had his powers back everything would be better.

Cas could relate to that. He knew what it felt like to be stripped of everything that you had ever known and the very thing that seemed to make you who you are. Cas would catch Jack researching over and over how long it took for angels to get their grace back. When not occupied with that, he trained to be a hunter, learning to fight and cataloging knowledge about monsters. 

Cas could still see the frustration that rose in Jack every time he had to sit down and focus on getting better at the task in front of him, instead of snapping his fingers and getting what he wanted. He knew Jack didn’t want to have to rebuild what he had lost, he just wanted to have it back.

Over and over again Cas told him that his powers did not make him what he was, that he was much more than that. Unfortunately, these talks were short and ended with huffed replies from Jack and him stomping away, usually shutting his bedroom door with frustration.

Then there were the nightmares… which Cas knew nothing about. Jack refused to talk about it, and even if he did, there was nothing Cas could tell him, after all, Cas never dreamed, or slept for that matter. Cas sighed as he looked at his sleeping son. Dean would know what to do. Dean knew nightmares. Dean knew how to get through to Jack.

Cas could not stand having Dean gone. It was almost as if a part of Cas was gone with him. Cas had felt a similar sting when Dean had been missing during his time as a demon. But this time it was worse. Cas couldn’t quite figure out why, all he knew was the simple fact that knowing Dean was missing, taken hostage by a powerful archangel, turned his insides into a choppy sea, breaking and falling on itself without end.

Cas looked over to Sam and Mary who were huddled around the many notes that filled the motel’s small table. Cas had written almost all the prophet names that were seared into his mind. No one, except God, Cas supposed, knew who the next prophet would be, so they had to cross-search to figure out who these people were and if any of them had experienced events, like freak weather storms, that seemed to signal that they were the next prophet. The task was hard and time-consuming considering some may be dead and others may not even exist yet.

“Rosa Sanchez,” Mary said the name quietly. Both Sam and Cas looked at her waiting for her to continue. “According to this, her sister, Arcelia, reported her missing a day ago. Apparently she’s a musician, she went to play at a local bar and never came home. The same day there was an electrical storm that came out of nowhere.”

“Where?” Cas asked.

“Amherst, Massachusetts.”

***

_Thirty-one days since Dean was taken by Michael_

Despite the fact that it was the middle of summer in Amherst, Massachusetts, the day was not yet hot and humid. Instead, the early hour provided a comfortable warmth on its cusp of becoming stickily hot. Sam found himself standing in the hallway of an ordinary apartment building, rasping his knuckles on one of its doors on the third floor. Within moments the door opened slowly and caught itself on a security chain as a young woman peered out. Her wide brown eyes looked up at Sam, they were red, as if she had been crying, making her youthful face look exhausted. “Can I help you?”

“Are you Arcelia Sanchez?”

“Yeah,” She answered suspiciously.

Sam pulled out his badge. “I was hoping I could talk to you about your sister.”

The girl’s eyes widened. The door shut and Sam heard the security chain jingle before it opened again. The door opened wide and she gestured for Sam to enter her apartment.

As Sam stepped into the apartment he took in his surroundings. On one side of the apartment there was a kitchen, on the other a sitting area with a couch, TV, and two chairs. Behind the sitting room, there were two large windows looking down at the busy street below. The area looked cozy, decorated with simple furniture and themed in rustic reds and oranges.

“I, uh, I didn’t think the FBI would be working on something like this.”

She stood there, wringing her hands and staring up at Sam. Her big eyes were full of sadness, more than that, of fear. Again, something pulled in Sam’s chest. He ignored it, and motioned to one of the chairs in the sitting room. “May I?”

“Of course.”

He sat on the edge of a chair, she joined him on the couch opposite. Sam, looking for a way to dodge the uncertainty she had posed, searched for a topic to naturally change the conversation to. His eyes settled on the side table. There was a picture there of a young woman, who looked much like Arcelia, with the same warm olive skin tone, dark black hair, and big brown eyes. In the photograph, she was smiling wide and holding up an acoustic guitar as if it was the greatest thing she had ever held.

“Your sister’s a musician?” Sam already knew this, after all, it was when Rosa was playing at the bar, Tony’s, that she had disappeared. But it was the perfect subject to distract her from questioning why Sam was poking around.

Arcelia gave a small and sad smile. She looked over at the picture. “Yeah, she loves it. She’s studying music theory at school.” She gestured at the photograph. “That was taken the day she got the gig at Tony’s. She was ecstatic.” Arcelia looked down to her hands that restlessly sat in her lap.

“That was where she was last seen?”

The girl looked up. “Yeah.” Barely noticeable tears began tracing her cheeks. “I even told her not to go.”

Sam leaned forward. “Why would you tell her that?”

Arcelia shook her head. “She had an awful headache. I told her to just stay home. But she wouldn’t miss it. Just like she wouldn’t miss her class that day. She’s always so stubborn. Ro’s always known exactly what she wanted, and nothing, absolutely nothing gets in her way.” Arcelia sniffled and Sam suddenly realized how awkward it was talking to the weeping girl. Arcelia must have picked up on his uncomfortableness, she wiped her cheeks. “Sorry.”

“No, uh, it’s fine.” Sam gave a kind smile. “Did your sister get headaches a lot?”

“No more than the next person. And never like that.”

Sam shifted, pulling out a photo from the inside of his suit jacket. He passed it to Arcelia. “Have you ever seen this man?”

Arcelia took the picture and studied it for a moment. “No. Why? Who is he?”

Sam sighed. “Are you sure?”

Arcelia held the picture out for him to take back. “Yeah. Why? Do you think he has something to do with my sister’s disappearance?”

He pulled back the photo, staring down at it for a moment. The picture of Dean was probably a decade old, but they rarely took photos, and it was the best one he could find without cutting it off some fake ID. It would have been much simpler if Arcelia had said yes, said that she had seen Dean, or Michael, whatever. It would be a lead, something that was becoming rarer and rarer in the cases Sam worked.

Sam stuffed the photo back in his jacket pocket. Then he took a shot at answering Arcelia’s question. “We, uh-” He could not bring himself to say that the man in the photo had taken her sister. After all, Dean hadn’t. Michael had. And Michael had taken Dean too. He switched approaches. “He’s someone who’s missing too.”

When Sam looked up again Arcelia's face had gone soft. She was no longer crying, but the wet tears still haunted her eyes.

Sam cleared his throat. “I should be going now.” He stood. “Thank you, for everything.” He reached into the same pocket that held Dean’s photo, pulling out a business card with a fake name and a real phone number. “Please call if you need anything.” Sam gave a small smile and turned to leave.

“Agent?” Sam turned back to the young woman sitting on the couch. “That man, how long has he been missing?”

Sam sucked in oxygen before answering, “About a month.”

“Does he have a family?”

The question jarred Sam. He found himself staring down at the floor. Then he shook it off. “Yeah, he does. And we’re going to get him back to them. Just like we’re going to get your sister back to you. I promise.”

Arcelia nodded. Sam pushed open the apartment door and left the familiar fear and loneliness behind him. 

Sam made his way down the hall. He flicked his cell phone to life, ready to text the group his findings. He pulled open the stairwell door, stepping over the threshold he suddenly felt a sharp pain as something struck the side of his head. Before he could even calculate what was happening, he was on the ground.

His hand, now free of the cell phone that was likely broken somewhere on the ground, automatically went to the side of his head that was now throbbing with pain. He turned over onto his back, as much as he could on the tiny staircase’s platform while pushed up against the wall. Through his blurry vision, he saw a woman standing above him. She stood in a wide stance, a baseball bat, the item Sam assumed had been used to thump him in the head, over her shoulder.

“Who are you?” She questioned him with a cool tone.

“Listen, I don’t want any trouble.”

The woman laughed and as she did Sam slowly slipped his hand down to his gun. “Right, sure. Now, who are you?”

Sam pulled out his gun, cocking it and pointing it to her chest.

She scoffed. “Oh, shoot all you want. It’ll just draw attention to yourself. And that little thing won’t hurt me.”

She tightened her hands around the bat. Her arm and shoulder lifted, ready to swing down on Sam again. Sam’s eyes widened. He squeezed the trigger.

The bullet landed straight in the middle of her chest. Her hands slipped off the baseball bat as she struggled to find her balance. The bat fell over her shoulder onto the staircase’s landing. Sam got to his feet quickly. He reached into his jacket, pulling out the pair of Enochian handcuffs that he had recently started carrying around with him as a precaution, even if they might not work on Michael.

The woman touched the blood pouring from her chest. She looked back at Sam. “Ow. That _hurt_.”

Sam gave her his “too bad” smile. Then he lunged at her, swinging with his fist. He collided with the side of her face and she staggered backward again. When she looked back to Sam she was smiling. Then she flew her own fist back at Sam. He blocked the coming blow with his forearm to hers and quickly fastened the handcuff etched with magic onto her wrist. She struggled, grabbing at her confined wrist. Sam took the advantage and fastened her other wrist in the cuff.

The woman growled. Sam flicked away his hair that had fallen in his face, then he pushed his new prisoner, making her begin her descent down the stairs. He figured someone had heard the gunshot, that someone had probably phoned the police and they should probably get going before the situation became too complicated and involved too many authority figures.


	4. Assailants

_Thirty-one days since Dean was taken by Michael_

“Who are you?” Castiel held his silver angel blade against the woman’s throat. She looked to be about in her mid-thirties, with brown skin and a halo of curly brown hair. But Castiel saw no woman, instead, he saw the monster that had taken over her body without permission, infected her mind, and ultimately got her killed when Sam pulled the trigger of his gun in self-defense. 

Behind the woman’s face, Castiel saw the broken, warped face of a demon. Never healed from years of torture, and defiled farther by a smug grin.

Her meat-suit smiled in reflection. “Last time I was up here they called me Kris.”

“Kris. Great.” Sam Winchester was standing behind Castiel, holding a cold beer to his head. The head wound still throbbed. Eventually, Cas would heal it but they were a little tied up with the demon Sam had brought home.

Mary sat on one of the motel room’s beds, watching the interrogation as it unraveled. Jack stood next to her, writing down everything that had happened in his tiny notebook. He had found the thing on a case with Cas and had since had it out any time someone was talking about the supernatural.

“Why are you here, _Kris_?” Castiel kept the tip of the blade next to her throat, making sure she knew that at any time he could run her through.

“Meh, I suppose for the same reason you are.”

Cas’s hand clenched on his blade. He had always hated demons. Since he was first created he had been taught to hate the savage beasts Lucifer had created. It was perhaps the one ideology his brothers and sisters had taught him that he still held. He hated how they thought they were better than everyone else, he hated how they spread their pain around and around, and even though they had long ago died, they came back only to create more of the same that had damned their souls in the first place.

More than that, he hated how he could see past her demon face to the face of the woman that had lost her life on the account of chance, just like so many others had due to demons and angels like himself, and why? Because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or born into a certain bloodline? Because that was just the way the world went?

Cas’s thoughts were interrupted by the demon who continued yapping her mouth. “I didn’t get who you were when I first saw you.” She looked to Sam. “But now I get it. A giant oaf, _Mother Mary_ , an angel, and an abomination; sounds like the Winchester clan.” Her smug smile was plastered on her face. “And let me guess: here looking for your long-dead brother?”

Sam pulled the cold beer off the side of his head, wincing as it parted. “Dean’s not dead.”

“Well, maybe not, but trust me, if you ever get him back, he’ll be worse than that. Nothing but a drooling mess rocking back and forth, lost in the broken mind Michael leaves him with. Or did Castiel not tell you that part?”

Everyone in the room looked to Cas. He ignored them, placing the blade to the demon’s neck until it drew blood. “How do you know any of this?”

“Eh!” The demon moved her neck as far as she could while constrained by the rope that the team had used to tie her to the chair. She moved her dark brown eyes to look at Cas’s, but Cas only saw the deep sunken rotting eyes of the demon.

“Why are you here? How do you know about Michael?” Mary asked, standing from the bed and crossing her arms as she walked towards the demon.

The demon gave a snort of a laugh. “Everyone knows about Michael. It’s been weeks, and he gets around.”

“What do you mean, ‘Gets around?’” Sam stared down at her with angry, desperate, and curious eyes. 

“As for why I’m here-” Kris continued, ignoring Sam’s new inquiry. She smiled. “The simplest of reasons: revenge.”

“Revenge for what?” Sam tried again. The demon was getting on his nerves with her smart-ass talk and her vague explanation. This time Kris looked up to him.

“Wow. Really out of the loop, aren’t ya?” No one answered. “Do you guys know what’s happening in Hell?” The group looked at each other with guilty stares. They had forgotten about the land of eternal damnation while focusing on Michael, a mistake that now seemed highly crucial.

“Anarchy,” Kris answered. “No leader. Every ruler we’ve ever known dead. Factions of demons are grouping together, usually just to kill others, sometimes to make power grabs. Most of it has stayed downstairs. But eventually, it _will_ bubble over. My group was the first to make it up top, but not to take over, or whatever, just to get away from all the damned fighting. Then, Michael came.” She paused for a moment, she seemed haunted by the retelling, if that was even possible for a demon. “He killed my friends, my family. So now, I’m gonna get my due.”

“What? You're gonna kill him?” Sam raised his eyebrows.

“You’re not the only one who’s gotten their hands on an angel blade.” Sam scoffed. Kris stared at him a moment, reading him. Once she figured out his attitude she gave a long sigh. “But of course he can’t be killed by that. He probably needs some special weapon only the Winchesters possess. Just my fucking luck.” The demon rolled her eyes.

“We never heard about any dead demons,” Jack had spoken up from behind the group.

“Not my problem you’re all slow. Michael butchered all four of them. And their meat-suits I might add. The Polizia di Stato did a whole investigation.”

“Polizia di Stato?” Sam questioned, taken aback, “This was in Italy?”

“What? Did you think demons only roam America? Trust me, better to stay far away from the Winchester dominion”

“Sam.” Mary had grabbed her son by the arm and pulled him aside, speaking in whispers. “I say we kill her. She’s not useful.”

“Well, I can hear you, so-” Kris remarked.

Sam looked back to her, then up to Cas, the silent communication was clear.

“Okay, okay, wait!” Kris held up her hands as much as she could while they were locked to the chair’s armrest. “I can still help you. I can still give you more information on Michael.”

“Why would we trust anything you say?”

“Because you can fact check it.” Kris looked at her kidnapper’s faces, they were obviously intrigued. “But you gotta promise you won’t kill me.”

“Fine.” Cas stowed his blade. “Speak.”

“Greg Derricks and Chloe Stuhr.”

Sam huffed. “Who the hell are they?”

“Gregory Derricks,” Jack said from behind the group, he was now on his cell phone, “according to this he went missing a week ago.” His fingers moved ferociously across the bottom of the screen. “And Chloe Stuhr, also missing, about the same time.”

“You’re saying Michael took them?” Sam looked back to Kris.

“Yup.”

“Why? How’d you know that?”

“Hell has a more intricate and vast network than you think.”

“Hmph.” Sam stood there, letting his thoughts roll through his head. The room was deadly silent. “Guess that’s good enough. Exorcizamus te-” Sam began the demon expulsion.

Kris rolled her eyes again, this time taking her whole head with her in exaggeration. “Really? I help you and so you send me back to that broken shithole?” Sam smiled while he continued the exorcism. “You realize you might send me back, but this body is dead! No playing hero benefits.”

“Audi nos,” Sam finished.

Kris’s head slammed back as far as it could go and black smoke curled out of the woman’s mouth, twisting in the air before sinking into the floor. Within seconds her head dropped down to her chest.

Cas placed his fingers on the woman’s neck. He sighed. “She’s dead.”

Sam closed his eyes, taking in the information. It was obvious, but still, it stung. He breathed out slowly, trying to expel the guilt. It didn’t work. He curled his firsts as he looked up to the dead girl’s body, to the red that was puddling on her nice blouse around her fatal gunshot.

***

Sam wiped the sweat off his forehead, the air was dense with humidity and the sun was beating down from its high seat in the sky. The tall green trees provided bountiful shade, but not enough to save a gravedigger from the afternoon heat. Sam rested his chin on the back end of his shovel deciding that Cas, the magical being that didn’t sweat under any circumstances despite wearing three layers of clothing, could take it from here.

Castiel threw the dirt into the fresh grave covering up the evidence of the crime Sam had committed that day. A bullet to the heart. That was all it took, and for no reason. The woman, who Sam didn’t even know the name of, had been taken and used, in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that was enough for her death sentence. He thought back to the beginning of the day, to the young Arcelia, wondering if his victim had a family, someone who would wait for her to come home, only to never even find out what became of her.

Sam knew if Dean was there he would tell him not to think like that, it was a disease that was sure to kill any hunter. Push it down, keep going. That’s what his brother would say. But his brother wasn’t here. His brother could easily be the next person some poor bastard had to shovel dirt on top of. According to the demon, Dean was already dead anyway, his own body had become his grave while Michael continued to puppet it around.

Sam closed his eyes, grasping harder onto his shovel. Something rose from his heart into his throat, the feeling that some force was stealing his breath, crushing his heart, devouring him from the inside out. Strange to think only a few days ago it had seemed like they had found something. Right on the verge of hope, scraping it with his fingertips only for it to be snatched away.

Sam opened his eyes. He watched Cas continue to bury the dead body. “What did Kris mean when she said Dean is worse than dead?”

Sam had avoided the question while driving to the out-of-the-way woods, but now it bubbled up, falling forth with other insecurities and fears.

Cas stopped, looking up to Sam. His eyes were bright, surprised, as if he had almost forgotten about the youngest Winchester’s company while engaged in the repetitive act of filling the grave. He spoke with the same hard, unwavering voice that seemed to always accompany him, “She was wrong, Sam.”

“About what exactly? She seemed to be saying you know something we don’t.”

Cas sighed, whatever it was, he didn’t want to say it out loud, which meant it was not good news. “Archangels are extremely powerful. Michael is the most powerful one there is, perhaps even more than Lucifer was.” Cas stopped to calculate what he was about to say next. “Usually angels have a symbiotic relationship with their vessels, that’s why we ask permission to take them, but archangels are beings of fury, their vessels are weapons to be wielded, used, never tossed away. They channel all of their energy, they use all of their vessel so that when they are finally, if ever, discarded, they, uh, never quite recover.”

“I did. My father did.”

“That gets complicated. The archangel can make sure their vessel isn’t harmed as much and ‘put them back together’ in a sense before they depart. As for you, you died and went to Hell and were resurrected. Not to mention-”

“I had some problems,” Sam admitted. Despite the raging heat, a chill went down Sam’s spine. “You think once we find Dean he’ll be able to expel Michael? Or you think Michael’s too powerful?”

“I don’t know. But it would be best if we found the British Men of Letters’ egg device.”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, except we have no idea where it is. And Ketch has gone AWOL, either captured or in hiding, so it’s not like he can help us.”

Cas seemed to be at a loss for words, once again he dug his shovel into the pile of dirt next to the grave. Sam shook his head and followed his lead.

***

“So he’s an angel?”

Castiel nodded. After finishing filling the grave Sam and Cas made their way back to the motel room. They were looking at yet another clip from a security tape, this time from a back alley that led out from the bar Tony’s. The video showed a man following Rosa out of the bar and when he attacked her she fought back, but eventually, he knocked her to the ground and carried her away from the bar.

“Yes. Selanthiel,” Cas answered, “one of the few angels left.”

“So Michael’s definitely working with Heaven then?” The question came from Mary.

“Yeah, which means he’ll just be eighty times harder to find.” Sam said as he bit at his thumbnail. It was an old habit that used to get him through long tests in college, he’d mostly abandoned it since getting back into hunting, but every now and then he chewed at the ends with stress.

“You know anything useful about him, Cas?”

“No,” Cas admitted, “We worked in different fields.”

“What do you mean?” Jack looked up to his father, curious about the inner workings of Heaven.

“He worked with Naomi, something with the inner workings of Heaven, I was always in the garrisons.”

“Heaven has different fields?” Mary looked uncomfortable about the idea.

“Yes. Well, I suppose not so much anymore.”

“Great, so another dead end.” Sam was getting tired at constantly having to slam the breaks on anything they figured out.

“We could try and follow his trail? I mean, he has no wings right? Maybe he can lead us to something?” Mary insisted. She was worried about her son’s sudden frustration but unsure how to help.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“I, uh, researched what Kris was talking about.” Jack placed Sam’s tablet on the table. “According to the report there were four people found dead twelve days ago, they were all previously missing, and they can’t figure out how they died. They describe it as burning from the inside.”

“So, she wasn’t lying.” Sam picked up the tablet, looking at the evidence Jack had found. To be honest, he was impressed. “Michael’s remaking the world in his image, guess it makes sense he’d take down demons walking on Earth.”

“What about Rosa and the humans he abducted?” Mary inquired.

“Prophets have a wide array of abilities. With the angel's numbers so low he could be using Rosa for some way to fuel Heaven... or a number of other things really,” Cas replied.

“And Greg and Chloe?”

No one answered. After a while, Mary spoke again, looking to her son, “What do we do now?”

“Check out Greg and Chloe’s stories I guess. Let's see where that leads us.” Jack, Cas, and Mary nodded affirmatively with Sam’s orders. Then they turned to begin packing up the motel room.


	5. Wounded General

_Forty-five days since Dean was taken by Michael_

The church had long since been emptied, wooden pews liberated from the faith-carriers’ broken and fearful hearts. The ones who preached God’s light and hope had since gotten in their cars and driven away from the small suburban church. All except one. She stood on the chancel, her nicely manicured fingers flipping through the money that she had brought in for the day.

The people who visited the church saw her as one of the greatest preachers of God; she showed them light and blessed them through her extraordinary healing powers. She, however, did not believe in God.

Well, it was not exactly that she did not believe in him, she knew that he was real, she just did not _believe_ in him. What could she say? She was realistic. She knew for a fact that he was not watching over Earth and caring for the people who spent their lives in search of him. Without any Heaven to follow, she joined the corrupt human system. 

There was a rustling behind her. Keeping her eyes on her money, she called to whoever had entered the church, “Sorry, service’s over.”

“Oh, I’m not here for service, Anael.”

Anael lifted her head and slowly turned around. The man who had spoken stood at the entrance to the church, blanketed in the darkness. He was dressed nicely in an expensive three-piece suit, not something Anael expected to see in a small town in Idaho. But his clothes were disheveled as though he had been in a fight. Through the darkness she could see the man’s hand was tightly grasped on the side of a wooden pew, steadying himself. His other hand was under his vest, holding his side.

“Who are you?”

“What, you don’t recognize me with this pretty face?”

His tone was cocky, but underneath the haughtiness, there was hidden pain. Anael stared at him. Like all angels, she could see past the vessel he was parading around in, but what she was seeing could not be right. “No. That’s- that’s impossible.” She stared at him a moment longer, there was no way her eyes could be deceiving her.

His hand slid off the pew that he was holding onto and tightly grasped at the next pew in front of it. He was using them as a crutch. Anael drifted her gaze to where Michael was holding his side. “You’re hurt.” It was more of a surprise than seeing the long-discarded Michael prancing around in Dean Winchester’s body right in front of her. Archangels were nearly indestructible and yet, here was the most powerful of them all, holding his guts in with a hand and force of will.

Michael did not answer her announcement but only continued to make his way up the pews, closer to Anael.

A smile slithered across Anael’s face, come and gone before Michael could ever see it, but its feeling rested inside her. “What do you want?”

Michael settled himself in the last pew, closest to Anael. The sight of him was rather pathetic, yet when he looked up at her with those borrowed green eyes, a shiver went down Anael’s spine. There was fire behind those eyes, anger and rage, something that would cause most people to run away without another thought or fall to their knees and beg for mercy. But Anael was never one for begging, and she always enjoyed the dance with fire.

“I thought that was quite obvious.” His voice was hard, reflecting the frustration that showed through his eyes.

“You want me to help you, to heal you.”

Michael gave her an annoyed smile as an answer.

Anael thought for a moment. “And why would I do that?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why would I help you?”

“I am the archangel, Michael. I am your leader-”

“Hmmm, about that. You were my leader, once. Since then, I’ve built my own way.” She gestured to the money in her hand. “Plus, you’re not really him, are you? You reek of something… different. You might be Michael, but you’re not from here.”

Michael clenched his jaw but did not provide an answer.

“So, shall we play this a little differently?”

“You think this is a joke?” Those green eyes stared back up at Anael, the fire behind them becoming an inferno.

Anael stood there staring at her opponent. “Well.” She turned to pick up her coat. “I have places to be, so, good luck, or whatever.” Anael walked past the wounded angel as her high heeled boots clicked on the church floor.

“Wait.”

Anael stopped. “I’m listening.”

“I can’t give you what you want.”

“You haven’t even asked.”

“I don’t need to ask Anael. Look at yourself.” He spit the words like poison. Anael’s face hardened into a straightened mouth and a brow heavy with anger. Slowly she turned back to Michael, he was standing again, holding onto the wooden pew. “You used to be an angel of the Lord! Now, you’re just a pitiable excuse for a human. And like all the other humans on this rock, you hide behind your facade of pretty things. You put on a face of greed, thinking that’s what you want. But it’s not.”

Anael sneered. “You don’t know me, Michael.”

“Oh, sure I do, because you’re just the same broken little thing as the rest of them.” A laugh fell from Michael’s lips. It was short, stiff, and cold, something one would expect from someone who had never laughed before, which was probably true in Michael’s case. “How… funny, isn’t it? You’re the healer. The one who saves the broken and mutilated. But in truth, you’re the broken one. And who will save you?” Anael swallowed hard and gnashed her teeth. Michael only smiled back. 

He slowly lifted his hand that had been holding tight onto the pew in front of him. The hand curled into a claw and then, Anael felt it. She felt Michael grab her life force and begin squeezing it. Her cash fell from her hand, each bill drifting back and forth until it reached the white-tiled floor of the church. She grabbed at her throat and her fashionable, expensive coat fell from her arm.

“So how about this Anael?” Water dripped from her eyes as she struggled to keep her life. “How about you help me-” She fell to her knees, next to her fallen money and her dropped coat, as Michael walked closer to her. “Or I will kill you.” Liquid from Michael’s wound gushed out of the hand that was attempting to hold it in, slowly dripping onto the church floor, creating a small puddle at his feet.

Michael let go of his hold on Anael. She gasped for breath, taking it all in.

It was the second time she had been strangled by an archangel, but somehow Michael made it worse than Lucifer. They were both children throwing tantrums, but while Lucifer had been lost and stupid, Michael had a plan, which meant he was much harder to manipulate. She took in many more deep breaths, testing her life until she grasped the wooden pew next to her and pulled herself up.

Michael had settled in his pew again. Anael stepped carefully over the discarded money and the shiny pool of blood as she made her way to him. He sat there with his eyes closed, a smug look etched in his face. She stared for a moment at his exposed neck. Her fingers itched.

She knew that it was impossible, even with his wound he would probably smite her before she even touched him. But the idea of giving him a taste of what he had made her feel was invigorating. She lifted her hand. His eyes snapped open. “We don’t have forever, Anael. Or should I give you another reminder of what I can do to you?”

She glared daggers at him, irritation rolling under her skin. Then she bent down. With a particularly forceful tug, she pulled Michael’s vest free from its last button and lifted his shirt underneath. There were two stab wounds, less than an inch apart, that went straight through him, close to the hip bone. Surprisingly, the wounds had very little blood coming from it, rather something else was flowing out.

Anael stared in horror. “Is that- grace?”

“Yes.”

Anael stared up at Michael. He simply looked at her, daring her to question farther. Fine, if she had to heal him, she would. Hopefully then he would leave her the hell alone. She lifted her hand over the wound and closed her eyes, but something pushed against her. Something stopped her from healing him. “I-I can’t heal you.”

“Must I remind you-”

“Oh, threaten all you want, Michael. I cannot heal you. There’s something wrong with the wound. Whatever made it had some sort of power to it, a power that reacts to angels.” She looked Michael dead in the eyes, her lips forming around the words that felt strange in her mouth. “It’s- it’s killing you.”

Michael gritted his teeth. Feeling another temper tantrum coming, Anael laughed. “Oh, kill me. Threaten me. Hurt me, Michael,” She threw her hands up. “It doesn't change the fact, I cannot heal you. No angel can heal you. And if there is something out there that can fix this, you’ll be long dead before someone finds it and brings it back to you.”

“Listen to me, I am the Archangel Michael, I will not die from some stupid stab wound.”

Anael folded her arms. “Pretty sure death doesn’t care who the hell you are, Michael.”

Anael did not hide her smile from him now, she let it light up her face. Michael breathed heavy with anger. “What do you suggest I do then?” 

Anael laughed again, she was enjoying watching every bit of desperation that settled in him. 

“Answer me!”

She huffed. “The wound is centered in your vessel. If you were no longer in your vessel-”

“No, not happening.”

“You asked my opinion, I gave it.”

“Then maybe we should get a second opinion.”

“You want me to, what? Call another angel?”

“Yes.”

“I think I’ve helped enough, Michael.”

“Pretty sure I get to decide that. Call the angel Selanthiel.”

Anael rolled her eyes. “I will help you, but I want something in return.”

“We’ve-”

“Listen.” She was no longer afraid of him. She now saw his ever mounting fear, growing more and more as her's fell away. He would not kill her, she knew that now, because he was too afraid and too alone, and she was the only person there. “I will help you, but only if you promise that once I do you will leave me alone. Whatever you do, you have to promise me I will not be a part of it. Got it?”

“Fine.”

Anael knew what Michael was, he was the bringer of war. A general who had never learned what to do in peace. A leader who saw everyone around him as objects to be pushed into the positions he needed them in. Anael had already spent most of her life believing in those who saw her as nothing. She refused to be thought of as an object, as nothing but a tool, not again. Whatever Michael was bringing, Anael wanted absolutely no part in it.

***

Anael leaned up against the church wall, one leg up against it, the other on the floor. Michael was still in his pew, his eyes were closed. His hand was placed over his deep wound, but it did little to stop the silver-white substance from falling out. He sat there, unmoving, for all Anael knew, he was dead. She squinted and stared at him, trying to see any sign of life. How great would it be if he had just died there, no muss, no fuss? Michael let out a groan of pain. Anael sighed and placed her head back on the wall.

“Where is Selanthiel?” His voice was weak.

“I prayed to him.”

“Where is he?” Michael looked around the room as if expecting him to be there. 

“I don’t know.”

Michael let out another groan and looked at his wound. “I’m going to die.”

“Mmhmm,” Anael answered absentmindedly.

“Selanthiel won’t come in time. I can’t stay here.”

Anael smacked her lips and looked down at her nails, she was entirely uninterested in hearing Michael come to sense. Michael stood from the pew. He nearly fell back on his feet, but he quickly found his balance.

Anael stared at him, he looked absolutely awful. His grace loss had caused him to look dimmer, with skin that had taken on a grey tinge to it, as though it was beginning to rot. His eyes looked dark and sunken, as did his cheeks. Anael had seen many dead angels but never had she seen something like this, never had she seen one slowly decay.

“There’s a war coming, Anael.”

Anael scoffed. “There’s always a war coming, Michael. There’s always a war going on.”

“This will be different,” Michael wheezed, “This time the world will be different. This time I will rebuild it entirely. So let me give you some advice: pick a side. Because if you don’t, someone is likely to step over your dead body.”

“Right. Thanks.”

“Goodbye Jo.”

Michael’s head whipped back, his mouth opened and out came his grace, or what was left of it. It swirled out of Dean Winchester’s mouth and into the air. Anael stepped forward. It was a shame. She really thought he would be stubborn enough to die there, but no, he had to realize he was wrong. She only hoped that he would keep his word, that she would no longer be bothered.

With Michael gone, Dean Winchester’s vessel fell to the floor with a thump. Anael walked closer to him, he was nothing but a limp heap on the ground. Blood, pure blood with no sign of angel grace, came pouring from the wound in his side. As for the rot that had taken place in Michael, it was gone. The man now looked perfectly normal, well as normal as one can look when they have a stab wound in their side.

Anael stared down at him. “Ugh,” she breathed as she lifted her designer boot and lightly kicked the body at her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, technically Dean is no longer possessed, but the story will continue to focus on Michael and Dean and their relationship with each other. Without giving too much away, there will also still be future scenes where Dean is possessed, just slightly different.  
> Thank you for reading!


	6. Family Reunion

_Forty-six days since Dean was taken by Michael_

“Rawhead.” Jack studied the drawing from the Men of Letters’ file. “Those are killed by electrocution, right?”

Sam and Jack were sitting in the Bunker's library. For once the place was almost empty. Jack knew Cas and Mary were somewhere, and he was pretty sure the AU Hunter, Spencer, was looking through some lore in one of the back rooms. But it was not the busy metropolis that it usually was, with hunters coming and going, looking through the books, playing cards, and making food.

Not that Jack minded, he liked the AU Hunters. After helping them fight Michael and his angels he felt connected to them, he saw them as friends, people he could trust. Plus, he learned a lot about hunting from them.

Like usual nowadays, Sam was not paying attention to Jack. It had been two weeks since Donatello’s death, since they had had a lead on Michael. They found out next to nothing about the missing people, Greg and Chloe, and in the lull, Sam had thrown himself into any work he could find. Today his head was buried in his computer, searching through the evidence of a case one of the Hunters had sent him. 

“Sam?”

“What? Yeah. Rawhead. Electrocution,” Sam answered not looking up from his screen.

Jack sighed. With Sam constantly buried in work, and Mary and Cas keeping busy as well, all Jack could do was sit there and train to be a Hunter. It was boring and stupid. Sam and Cas would barely allow him on cases and when they did, he always needed a chaperone. Not a partner, a babysitter. 

If they weren’t absorbed in their work, all Jack’s family did was worry about Dean, which was worse. If only he still had his powers, then he would have found Dean and killed Michael a month ago. Jack looked down at the drawing of the Rawhead.

“Hey-”

“Sam!” Mary yelled as she rushed into the Bunker’s library. 

The panic in her voice caught Sam’s attention. “What’s wrong?”

“I, uh, I’ve been trying to search for anything Michael-like. And it turns out a John Doe was found stabbed in a church in Greyview, Idaho. Sam, look at the description.” She placed the tablet she had been carrying in front of Sam.

As Sam read, Jack looked at the tablet with slight suspicion. He knew how uncomfortable Mary felt about the newer technology, and yet here she was facing the internet and the complicated touchscreen with the sole intention of finding her son. He felt the unbearable guilt take hold in him again. The whole thing felt like his fault. He had trusted Lucifer, exactly like Dean had told him not to, and that had caused Dean to be abducted and Sam, Cas, and Mary to spend weeks worrying about him.

Jack’s thoughts were quickly interrupted when Sam finished reading the description on the tablet and he looked back up at Mary. “That- that sounds like Dean.”

“Yeah, it sure does.”

Sam was quickly on his feet and Jack followed his lead, ready to go. If this had even the possibility of being Dean, he was ready to check it out and make sure because Jack was suffocating the hope that when Dean was back, everything would be fixed. Everything would be better.

“Go get Cas, Mom. Jack.” Jack looked up at Sam, ready for the game plan, and desperately hoping his role was not just sitting in the Bunker. “Go see if you can find Spencer, tell him to see if he can figure out what it is Jules and Maggie are hunting in Nevada.” He gestured to his laptop.

Jack nodded and took off running down the hallway.

***

It was already night when Sam, Jack, Cas, and Mary arrived at Bannock County Medical Center, the small hospital where the stabbed John Doe had been taken to. The tiny lobby was empty save the young nurse who sat in her office chair behind her desk in the corner. She had beige skin that reflected the rosy scrubs she was wearing, and dark brown hair pulled into a bouncy ponytail. She was staring boredly at her computer and smacking chewing gum in her mouth.

When she registered that someone had entered the lobby she recited her numb customer service line, “Hello, welcome to Bannock County Medical Center, how may I help you?” 

Mary gave her a kind smile and pulled out her FBI badge. “Hello, I’m Agent Jones with the FBI. I’m looking for a John Doe that was admitted here about a day ago.”

The nurse snatched Mary’s badge out of her hand and examined it, then looked back up at the gang with her dull eyes. “You all FBI?”

“I am, this is my partner.” She put her hand on Sam’s shoulder next to her. “The other two are possible family members of the patient and informants,” She finished, motioning to Cas and Jack behind her. It was the aliases that they had decided on before coming in. Sam figured that if they could have a combination of family members and federal agents they could get the most and best information, assuming that it was actually Dean that was in the tiny hospital in Idaho. 

“Fine.” The woman stood up from her office chair. “Follow me.”

She led the four of them down the dim halls of the hospital until she stopped at one of the doors.

“Only two in the room at a time.”

The group huffed together as Sam, who was leading, rounded the door frame. The room was small, with a small window, a couple of chairs in the corner, and a bulky hospital bed with all the equipment next to it taking up a multitude of the room. When Sam looked to the hospital bed he felt as though someone had kicked him in the chest. His hand covered his mouth and he whispered, “Holy shit.”

Part of him believed that they would never find Dean or that Michael had killed him long ago. Yet, here he was, unconscious in some random hospital, but alive.

“If one of you are a relation I need you to fill out some paperwork.” The nurse’s uninterested voice droned.

“Yeah.” Mary gave her a kind smile again. “Can we just have a minute?”

The woman rolled her eyes and smacked her gum. “I’ll be at the front desk.”

With her gone the group huddled into the room.

“I can’t believe it.” A small laugh fell from Sam. “He’s actually alive.”

Cas made his way past Sam and Mary until he reached the unconscious Dean. He closed his eyes and put two fingers to Dean’s forehead.

Sam, Mary, and Jack watched the angel with anticipation. He stood there unmoving until his eyes threw themselves back open, but Dean remained the same as he had before, unconscious and strapped to the sizable machines at his side. Cas moved his hand over Dean’s stab wounds. His eyes closed again but as Sam watched, nothing happened. He had seen Cas heal people many times before, he saw the white light that came from his hand as the wound sealed up. This time, however, there was nothing.

A few seconds later Cas’s eyes were open again and his brow fell heavy with confusion. “I can’t heal him.”

“What does that mean?” Sam stared at his friend anxiously, waiting for him to explain.

“I’m not sure. There’s something wrong with the wound.”

“What kind of something?” Mary’s voice had the undertones of panic, but when Cas answered her he was still quite calm.

“I’ve never felt anything like it. It seems like whatever stabbed him radiated some sort of power, it reacts to other types of magic, especially angelic magic.”

“So what does that mean?” Sam echoed his previous question. He was growing impatient, more than that, he felt his anxiety clutch his chest. What did it mean that his brother had a magical stab wound? Was this just another time that hope seemed right in front of them only to turn out to be some sick mirage?

“It means Dean will have to heal on his own. With the help of the nurses. Thankfully he seems in pretty good shape, it won’t take long. Plus, I think once the magic dissipates a little more I will be able to heal him completely.”

Sam let out a long heavy sigh. He stared at his brother as the scene that had haunted him for the past two weeks began playing in his head again. _Dean’s not dead._ He could still see the demon with perfect clarity in his mind’s eye. _Well, maybe not, but trust me, if you ever get him back, he’ll be worse than that. Nothing but a drooling mess rocking back and forth, lost in the broken mind Michael leaves him with._ Sam bit down hard. Dean was strong, he was going to be fine.

Jack broke the silence in the room. “Is that why Michael left?”

Cas thought for a moment. “I suppose. Usually, when angels are hurt with lethal weapons, like angel blades, they’re too wounded to leave their vessel. But considering we don’t know what this weapon is, it is possible that the wound was centered in the vessel, not the angel. Michael could have left with the intention of healing himself away from the poison of the wound.”

“Just want to make sure, he definitely isn’t Michael anymore?” Mary inquired.

“No.”

“Good. Sam?”

Sam looked to his mother.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered flatly. He was unsure what to do with the information about a magical unknown angel killing weapon and a passed out brother.

“Right, well front-desk-nurse-lady probably wants a follow-up.”

“Yeah, I’ll go. Dean and I’ve had fake identities set up for years, in case something like this ever happened. Jack can come with me, feed her ‘personal’ information.”

“They’re bound to look up missing person reports. They probably already have.”

“Call Jody. She can probably sort it out.” With that, Sam turned to leave the room, rubbing his newly grown beard and wondering why every news had to just pile on more concerns and questions.

***

_Forty-seven days since Dean was taken by Michael_

After spending the night there, Sam could no longer stand the suffocating little hospital room. It was impossible to have five people in there all at once, not to mention against hospital regulations, not that any of the Winchester clan actually cared about those. There was nothing to do but sit in silence and wait for the unconscious Dean to awaken, which, according to the nurses, should be soon. Unfortunately, “soon” had no precise time stamp.

Sam was grateful that Dean was back and no longer possessed, but it was bittersweet. Sam hated being plunged into the same do-nothing days that they had been cursed with for weeks, and he could no longer take it. He longed for action, for something to do.

He decided that the best way to help Dean was to do some snooping. Jack wanted to tag along, so the pair took a trip to the local police station. With the wave of a badge, they learned that the 911 call that brought Dean in was dialed by an anonymous person. All they uttered was the address and the request for an ambulance, but they were gone from the scene once it arrived.

Jody came through fast, setting up a missing person report that looked like it had been filed weeks in advance. Along with the emergency aliases that Sam and Dean set up, no one from the hospital questioned anything.

The doctor informed Cas and Jack, who posed as Dean’s family members, that Dean had significant blood loss. Thankfully, any damage that had been done had been fixed, more or less, during surgery and the doctors expected him to make a full recovery. Of course, the doctors couldn’t take into account if this magical weapon had any repercussions for humans. Cas was sure that it wouldn’t and that the wound would heal, but the worry still nagged at the back of Sam’s mind.

Sam and Jack now stood in the tiny, quiet church Dean had been found in. It was simple and neat inside but the sun angled through the windows in a way that made it dark and ominous. Finally, a middle-aged man with pale skin and balding hair came into the nave. He gave Sam and Jack a small smile.

“Agents, right? I’m Reverend Thomas. How may I help you?”

“We wanted to follow up on the stabbing that happened here two nights ago,” Sam answered.

His face fell. “Well, I already told everything I know to the police. I’m not sure how much more of a help I can be.”

“You didn’t know the, uh, victim?” Jack starred with his big blue eyes at the reverend. His pen was ready to write down whatever he said in his notebook.

“No, never seen him before in my life.”

“And you were the last one to leave for the night?” Sam continued the interrogation.

“No, I left much before that. Sister Jo said she would tidy up, I left her the keys.”

“Sister Jo?” Sam stopped. Well, that explained what Michael was doing in a minuscule town in Idaho in the first place. Did that mean she was the one to call 911? Why? Was she working with Michael like the rest of the angels?

“Yes, she’s a faith healer.” The reverend obviously did not register the look of recognition that befell Sam’s face. “She was kind enough to come to our church-”

“Where is she now?”

“I’m not sure. The keys were in my mailbox yesterday morning. She wrote a small note, said something came up. She had to leave.”

“And that didn’t seem suspicious to you?” Sam was getting snappy.

“No, she’s a very busy person.”

“Huh, I’ll bet,” Sam muttered under his breath, but the reverend still caught his words.

“Are you implying Sister Jo was the one to do this? Because she is a kind person, a giver. She’d never do something so treacherous.” Reverend Thomas spoke as though he had been betrayed and what Sam was suggesting was blasphemy.

“Of course not, just have to follow every possible lead.”

“Right.”

“Thank you for your time, Reverend.” Sam turned to leave as Jack flipped up his notebook.

“Good luck to you, Agents. I hope you find whoever did this. It would be such a shame to have such a heavy shadow on our beloved church.”

Sam gave the reverend a smile that portrayed his snippy thoughts of: _Right, sure it would be. How awful for your_ church.

Once they were outside and away from unwanted listeners Jack looked up at his father figure. “Who’s Sister Jo?”

“She’s an angel.”

“Do you think she’s working with Michael?” Jack asked, wide-eyed.

“I don’t know. But we sure as hell are gonna find out when we find her.”

***

The two chairs that had come with Dean’s hospital room had been moved from their neglected place in the corner to the bedside of the bulky hospital bed. Cas sat in one of the chairs, Mary had occupied the other chair not long ago, but she had since left in search for some morning coffee. Cas watched the unconscious Dean as his chest moved up and down and the machine next to him registered every heartbeat with a tiny beep. He watched as Dean lay there looking peaceful and untouched by the worry that his family members had for him.

Cas had not always understood the fragility of humanity. For so long he had practiced what every other angel had ingrained in them. The duty, the battle, the war; what they were told to do. They were supposed to protect humanity, but no angel really understood this mission because most angels did not understand humanity.

To angels, humans were objects that lived out odd and confusing lives, not people to interact or connect with, but rather something to observe. That lack of understanding had led the angels to either think of humans as weak beings that deserved to be treated as less, or the same as the angels: strong, with no need of help from anyone.

Cas had known that helping humans was his job, but even now he could not entirely grasp humanity. He supposed that no one ever would, not even humans themselves. They were an anomaly, right when you thought you had them figured out they proved you wrong.

It was not until Cas had first laid a hand on Dean Winchester and pulled him from Hell that he truly began to understand what humanity was made of. That he truly began to understand the fragile brokenness of humanity, of angels too, of the entire world, but also the strength, love, and connection that grew from those broken parts.

Dean had been the first person to teach Cas what to fight for. He had taught him to fight for family, true family, not just the ones that Cas felt obligated to call family. Cas, along with his newly found family, had stopped Michael, and yet, in the end, destiny seemed to catch up to them. Somehow Dean was free but still burdened by Michael. Or perhaps Dean was free and it was only Cas who was burdened by Michael and the failed security the archangel represented.

If only Cas could heal him. If only he could have stopped Michael. Squeezing his eyes shut, Cas forced himself to stop his thoughts. Those were the same thoughts that he had advised Jack not to dwell on. The loss of powers, the loss of opportunity. It was toxic, he had to look forward, not back.

Yes, humanity was fragile. Yes, even the mighty Dean Winchester was fragile. But Dean was also strong. He would heal, and then, Michael would pay. There was nothing that was going to get in the way of them stopping Michael. And when Michael was finally defeated, there was nothing that anyone, not an archangel nor another alternate Michael, could do that could take away what they accomplished, the win that they achieved.

***

Mary picked up the steaming hot cup of coffee. It was black and more bitter than it had any right to be, but Mary drank it plain anyway.

“Gross, ain’t it?”

Mary turned around. An old woman was standing behind her, her white skin in wrinkled folds and her bright white hair in a short fuzz on the top of her head. Realizing she was blocking the beverage station, Mary took a step away.

“Wouldn’t think it’d be that hard to make a cup of coffee, but in the decade I’ve been coming here they still haven’t figured it out.”

Mary nodded politely, wondering if it’d be rude to leave.

“You look like you’ve been through an ordeal. So who is it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Here in the hospital? Who is it?” 

Mary looked to the old lady’s crystal blue eyes, suspicious of her sudden inquiries. She didn’t seem like a monster, demon, or angel, but who knew…

“Don’t have to tell if you don’t want to. It just gets lonely sometimes. My husband’s always in and out of here, and nobody wants to trade stories with a lonely grandma.”

Mary looked at her, she trusted her instincts, they had never led her wrong before, at least, not with hunting. “My son.”

The old lady’s eyes widened. “He must be young then. Hope it’s not too serious.” The old woman had poured her own cup of coffee, she held both her hands around the paper cup and sipped it slowly.

“Honestly, I don’t know. What about your husband?”

“Eh, as I said, he’s always in and out of here.” She sighed. “That’s what happens when you get old. He was in the military though,” The woman added randomly. It was something most people wouldn’t care about, but to the old woman it was important, something that made her proud. She switched her coffee to one hand and then opened her handbag, searching through it until she found an old photograph of a man in a military uniform. She handed it to Mary. “Fought in Vietnam.”

Mary smiled as she looked down at the photo. “My-” She stopped herself. “Someone I knew fought in Vietnam too.” The smile melted off her face and she handed the photo back to the woman.

“Your son will be fine.”

Mary looked up at her. “Why do you say that?”

“You love him, I can tell. And a mother’s love goes a long way.”

Mary scoffed. “Honestly, I’m not much of a mom to him.”

The woman raised her eyebrows.

“It’s complicated.” There was something in the woman’s eyes, old, but still full of kindness, as if all of the bad she’d seen still hadn’t diminished her hope.

“That’s life though. Always complicated.”

Mary scoffed again, Winchester’s lives were more complicated than most. After taking a sip of her coffee she spoke, “I haven’t really been there for him. When he was young, I had to, uh, leave, not by choice, but still, I feel like it’s created this rift between us. And since I’ve been back I just-” She shrugged. “There are things I have to do, bigger than just being there for my boys. But I do wish things could be different.”

“You can’t change the past, no matter how much you want to. I found that the most important thing is just to be there. That’s what we all need, just someone to be there. You can’t do everything for them, but you can always love them and be there when they need you.”

“There you are, Mrs. Martin!” A nurse came rounding the corner. “Your husband’s awake, he’s looking for you.”

“Ah, right.” She smiled at Mary. “Thanks for talking to an old lady. I hope your son gets well.”

“Thank you.” Mary said softly while she watched the tiny old woman hobble down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter I have written so far and it has next to nothing going on. My apologies for that. Originally it was two chapters but I thought it was better to hit everyone with all the boring catch-up at once instead of drawing it out.  
> I enjoy trying to get inside the characters' heads and pull at what they are feeling and where they are coming from, which was what I was trying to get at with this chapter. I hope it wasn't too boring to read!  
> Thank you!!


	7. A Murderer's Hands

_Forty-nine days since Dean was taken by Michael_

Sam’s head rested on his hand as he scrolled through one of the Men of Letters’ files he had on his laptop. After finding out all that he could in the small town of Idaho, Sam had retired to Dean’s hospital room where he had spent most of the last two days going over angel research from the Men of Letters’ archives, and combing the internet for any news of angel sightings.

As their information slowed to a near stop, and Dean still lay unresponsive in his hospital room, Mary decided her energy would best be spent tracking down Sister Jo. She had left yesterday, following Jo’s trail east. Sam contacted Rowena to help Mary out, in hopes that she could offer magic to find her, but they had yet to come across anything useful.

Sam stifled a yawn as his eyes scanned the electronic screen. When the last golden sunlight finally abandoned the sky, Sam’s eyelids began to drift heavily and his head began to fall deeper into his hand.

“Sam?”

The voice drifted through the air as a soft whisper, sounding more like the whistling of the wind than a call of his name. Nevertheless, it shot Sam’s head up and forced his eyes open.

“Sam?” The call was louder this time, but still a weak croak.

“Dean?” Sam deserted the visitor’s hospital chair. Leaving his laptop in his spot, he stumbled over to Dean’s bed. Indeed Dean’s eyes were open, weighed down by exhaustion and dazed, but open nonetheless. 

“Michael?” Dean’s mouth barely moved to say the name.

“It’s okay, Dean, he’s gone.”

“Dead?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably. He wanted so badly to tell Dean that Michael was gone for good. That everything was fixed. That he would never have to worry about Michael again. Instead, he looked into his brother’s worried eyes and said, “We don’t think so.”

Dean let out a small scoff at his brother’s information. Then his eyes drifted around the room. When he spoke again his voice was stronger, he sounded less dazed. “Where am I?”

“Bannock County Medical Center. In Idaho.”

Dean’s face scrunched into confusion as if trying to glue back together the broken pieces that had been handed to him. He shifted in his bed only to let out a grunt of pain and grab at his side.

“Take it easy, Dean.” At his brother’s prompted look Sam continued, “You were stabbed.”

“Stabbed?”

“Dean!” Both Sam and Dean looked to the young boy who had called from the doorway. Jack moved in a blur, throwing his arms around Dean, resting his chin on his shoulder, and burying his face into Dean’s pillow. 

A smile filled Dean’s face as he put his arms around Jack, returning his hug. “Hey there, kid.”

When Jack pulled away he stared at Dean with his large eyes and announced, very seriously, “We looked everywhere for you.”

Dean gave a nod. “I’m sure you did.” Dean’s smile only grew when he looked past Jack and to the angel in the trenchcoat who was still standing in the doorway. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.” Cas’s face reflected the smiles that were going around the room. “How are you feeling?”

“Uh, confused mostly. Anyone want to catch me up?”

Sam, Jack, and Cas exchanged looks. Then Sam looked to his brother. “What do you remember?”

Dean shook his head and offhandedly replied, “I remember killin’ Lucifer. That’s about it.”

“Right. Then Michael took you.”

“We spent weeks looking for him,” Jack, who was now sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed, butted in.

“We spent weeks looking for anything to do with Michael. But there was nothing,” Cas continued.

“Wait, weeks?” Dean looked towards his family. “How long have I been gone?”

The room stopped in silence for a moment, with only the methodical heart monitor giving out its beeps.

“About seven weeks,” Sam informed him.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes moved back and forth, processing the information. “I don’t remember any of it.”

“After searching for Michael with no avail,” Cas continued, figuring the best thing to do was keep the story going, “we finally found something.”

Sam dismissed Cas’s information with a huff. “It was more like something found us, which was honestly weirder. I got a call telling me that Donatello had been killed.”

“Killed? Not just... withered away?” Dean asked.

“No. He was killed by an angel, one we think was working for Michael. There was security footage and everything,” Sam said the lie fast and then reluctantly caught Cas’s eye. He tried to nonchalantly tell him not to say anything, but Jack was looking at Sam too. As Sam saw it, there was no need to tell Dean that it had been his hands that killed Donatello. 

“How’d you know he was working for Michael?”

“We didn’t,” Cas picked up Sam’s lie and kept it rolling, “but it seemed like too much of a coincidence. The angels are supposed to be in Heaven. Keeping it together. There’d be no reason for one of them to kill a prophet.”

“Right. Then what?”

“We did some investigating,” Sam took the torch and, with some help from Jack and Cas, continued to inform Dean of the missing weeks, this time without any lies. He explained Rosa and trying to find her, the missing humans Michael had abducted for some unknown reason, their questions and minute theories about what was going on, and finally, how they had come to find Dean.

The more the group talked the more frustrated Dean looked. Sam understood, it felt like they had been going uphill through three feet of mud. There were never any answers and only more mysteries and questions dropped at their feet, weighing them down.

“We’re not sure what stabbed you, but it was powerful,” Cas finished off the story, “which is why I can’t heal you. At least not for the moment, I’m hoping the magic will dissipate and I’ll soon be able to.”

“What about Jo?” Dean questioned.

Sam sighed. “We can’t find her either. Mom is working on it, with the help of Rowena. They've only been on it for a day, so we’re hoping they’ll find something.”

Dean nodded. “Please tell me that’s it.”

“Yeah. That’s all.”

“Great. When do I get discharged?”

Sam, Cas, and Jack all shot Dean looks of disbelief. Sam was the one who answered, “Not for a while. You should take the rest, Dean. You need to heal. Which reminds me, we should probably go get a nurse.”

“Why? It’s not like they'll know anything about a magic stab wound.”

“Yeah well, at least they can treat the stab wound part. Plus, Cas says the magic part shouldn't affect you.”

“Awesome,” Dean answered sarcastically under his breath.

***

_Fifty-two days since Dean was taken by Michael_

The magic in Dean’s stab wounds faded slowly, but just fast enough that Cas could begin healing him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t cure Dean all at once, but at least he could help the process move along. Every time Cas placed his hand over Dean’s wounds and let his power help put his insides back together, Dean bit down in pain and Cas winced, giving quiet apologies.

Despite this, Dean was extremely thankful for his contribution. He hated everything about the hospital. He hated the dull grey walls, the beeping machines, and laying around “getting better” while Michael was still out there. More than all of that, he was beyond uncomfortable with the way everyone fussed over how he was doing. He needed to get out of there, he needed to go back home. To his room with his stuff where he could maybe actually try and get answers on what Michael was up to.

After two days of lying bored out of his mind in that hospital bed, Dean was finally discharged. It took a little persuasion from the tall, floppy-haired, and newly shaved “FBI agent”, but the doctor couldn’t deny that Dean was making extremely good progress and could be ready to go home. With the doctor’s approval of Dean’s release, the gang decided it was finally time to head back home. After asking Dean one last time if he was okay, Cas and Jack took off first for the Bunker while Sam and Dean prepared to leave.

Lucky for them, Sam had a change of clothes in the back of the Impala that Dean took into his hospital room’s restroom right before they were about to hit the road. He was just about to pull on his t-shirt when his fingers traced across the stitches in his side. The blade had punctured him twice, going straight through him, and cutting anything in between. They settled next to each other, slightly higher than his hipbone on two straight diagonals.

Dean had to wonder what happened to Michael’s opponent. Were they dead? More importantly, where was their archangel-killing weapon?

Unlike most of the other deep wounds he had had, these wounds had small precise stitches, the sign of an actual professional working on it instead of two brothers who were only trying to hold themselves together rather than have it heal properly. Even with all Cas did to help, the wounds were still tender, and there was a sharp pain any time Dean moved the wrong way. Dean pulled his fingers away and slowly looked up from his damaged side, but he was no longer in the hospital’s restroom… 

He was standing in a dark forest, surrounded by large pines. The ground had broken pieces of the trees but looked untouched by humans. His vision blurred in and out and he fell against one of the trees. He grasped at his side that had been ripped apart.

The wounds were fresh and burning with pain. He let out a groan as he stared down at his bleeding side. No, he didn’t let out a groan, Michael did. Michael was in control. When Dean’s, or Michael’s (Dean was losing track of the differences) vision settled, he pulled his hand slightly away from the wound. But what came pouring out of it was not the sticky red substance that Dean had always associated with the searing pain he now felt in his side. What fell out of the wound was a silvery-white substance, something that Dean had seen before, something he recognized as angel grace.

Michael let out another groan. Just as Dean attempted to look around to see where he was, he was pushed under, back into some subconscious prison. The world became dark nothingness, no light, no sound, only a heavy suppressing nothing. Dean tried to push free but a force much stronger than himself was keeping him under. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t scream or yell. It was as if he had no lungs at all. He was nothing, alone in the darkness.

Dean took a sharp breath and looked around the hospital restroom. He wasn’t in a forest. He wasn’t stuck drowning in his own head. He was in a hospital, and right outside the door was his brother. His heart was thumping against his chest and Dean grabbed the small sink next to him, trying to settle himself. He looked up into the mirror, but once again he was no longer in the hospital restroom… 

It was dark again, he was staring at a reflection that looked like him but wasn’t. Instead, it was Michael using his face and body. Dean was breathing heavily. As though it was the first oxygen that had ever entered his lungs. As if every breath was the most precious thing Dean had ever possessed.

Dean stared at the reflection in the window. Into green eyes that he had once called his own. Through a clenched jaw, he hissed at the reflection, “Let. Me. Out.”

Michael laughed a small tickled laugh. “Oh, Dean. Why would I do that?” 

“You can’t. I’ll stop you.”

A smirk rippled across Michael’s mouth. If Dean could, he was sure that he would vomit at seeing Michael manipulate his face like that. “Come on, Dean. You sold yourself to me. I own you now and trust me when I say, you are never getting out.”

A part of Dean crumbled in that moment. Michael was right. Dean had willingly given himself over. This had been his fault.

Michael looked over to a hospital bed. It took Dean a moment to realize who was lying in there. When he registered their unconscious form he whispered a defeated, “No.”

“That’s right Dean. You see, you fight me, so, so hard, but when they’re dead. When all your friends and family have been killed with your hands. You won’t fight me anymore. You’ll be complacent then, because I’ll- well, I’ll be the only thing you have left.”

Dean wanted to scream, but Michael had walked away from the reflection in the window and no matter how hard Dean tried he couldn’t open his own mouth, he couldn’t stop his own feet. All he could do was watch as Michael lifted his hand over Donatello’s forehead. He couldn’t stop it as Michael took hold of the last of Donatello’s flickering flame of life and snuffed it out. Dean could only watch as a white light came from his own hand and Donatello’s eyes melted in his skull.

Then Dean couldn’t fight anymore. He fell. He drifted to the nice dark corner of his consciousness that Michael had carved out for him. He let the feeling that he was nothing and that he couldn’t breathe wash over him and take him.

Dean pulled himself away from the mirror in the hospital restroom. He could no longer feel his thumping heart, it had seemed to have stopped, as though it was nothing but a stone in his chest, an unmoving heavy lump. He breathed out slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He wiped his hand down his face. “I’m okay,” he said as a simple soft whisper to himself. He gave himself a nod then pulled on his t-shirt and flannel without ever giving the mirror or his wounds another look, just in case another memory was jogged.

When he opened the door and left the tiny bathroom Sam looked at him with a questionable face. “You okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You look kinda pale.”

“I’m fine, Sam. Let’s go.”

Sam picked up the rest of his stuff as he followed Dean out of the hospital room.

By the time Sam and Dean had reached the hospital parking lot, Dean had calmed down. The fear that he had felt had begun to ease, the guilt and longing for revenge were still prominent but forgotten about a little more when Dean laid his eyes on the Impala. A smile lit up his face. He laid his hand on the car’s shiny black hood. “Oh, I missed you, Baby.”

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and gave a small airy laugh as he got into the driver's seat of the Impala.

When Dean got in on the passenger’s side he gave the interior of the car a look around. “Hmmm, looks like you didn’t douche her up this time.”

Sam shook his head at his brother as he turned over the engine. Dean rustled through his cassette collection before he settled on Metallica and popped it into the cassette deck.

As the car rumbled down the long road towards Kansas both brothers sat in silence. Dean pensively stared out his window, barely registering the well-known songs that were playing. His brain was stuck on Michael, torn between not wanting to think about the memories that had come to him in the hospital, and wanting to know absolutely everything that had gone down.

When the cassette finished Sam and Dean were well into Wyoming, and Dean had settled on a stance to take in his rolling mind. He looked to his brother, “How did you know it was one of Michael’s thugs that killed Donatello?”

Sam furrowed his eyes as he halfway looked at his brother while trying to keep his eyes on the country road. “I told you, there was security footage.”

“Right.” Dean looked out his window again. “Can I see the footage then?”

“Why?” Sam’s voice was blunt.

“I don’t know. You’re one hundred percent sure that it was some low-level angel, not say, the big boss himself?”

Sam looked at his brother seriously. “Why would you think that?”

Dean didn’t have to say anything more, he just gave his brother an I’m-not-stupid look.

Sam sighed. “How’d you figure out?”

“I remembered, Sam.”

“What? I thought you said you didn’t remember anything?” Sam sat up higher in the seat as the news riled him.

“I didn’t, until I did.”

“When?”

“Right before we left the hospital.”

Sam relaxed a little and gave a nod.

“Why’d you lie? Think I couldn’t take it?”

“It’s not about that, Dean. I just- you woke up with a stab wound after being gone for nearly two months, I thought you could use a break from all the things that were being thrown at you. It didn’t seem that important anyway.”

“Not important?! Sam, everything that Michael does is important until I put a bullet through his head.” Dean took a moment to think about what he said. “Or whatever it is I gotta do to kill him.”

“Right.”

“You got anything else you forgot to mention?”

“No, Dean. Everything else was exactly what happened.”

“Good.” Dean fell back against the Impala’s seat.

After a moment’s pause, Sam spoke again, “Actually there is probably something else you should know.”

Dean huffed. “Yeah, what’s that?”

“The Bunker’s a little different from when you left.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It’s become a sorta ‘home base’ for the Hunters that came through the rift. They do research and stuff there. It’s a little more crowded than before.”

“You’re running a hunting operation now?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it an ‘operation’ but I give them cases and help them out.”

Dean nodded, he looked out to the window again, finding solace in knowing that Sam couldn’t possibly read his face while he watched the fields move by. After a moment he asked in a joking manner with only the undertones of seriousness, “You didn’t let them touch my stuff did you?”

“‘Course not. All your stuff is exactly where you left it,” Sam answered back sincerely.

Dean nodded and then picked back up the cassette tape collection looking for the classic rock that would take them deeper into Wyoming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say, I really wanted to include Dean making some joke(s) about Sam's beard, as he did in the show, but it didn't really seem to fit with the heaviness of the chapter and I'm not too great at writing humor. I suppose he made some jokes in the two days I skipped over.


	8. Fighting to Breathe

_Five days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

Dean was getting used to the feeling of not being able to breathe. When he opened his eyes and began to take in the dark inside of a church, he wasn’t surprised that he was struggling to get air into his lungs. Then he realized he wasn’t, Michael was.

Michael’s breaths were ragged. Dean could feel the screaming pain in his side, he could feel Michael struggling to hold on to life, but over it all, he could feel the overwhelming fear that radiated from Michael. Knowing Michael was hurt and dying was one thing, experiencing the fear he felt was an entirely different speck of strange knowledge.

Pushing the pain and Michael’s fears aside, Dean realized they weren’t alone in the room. He could see the figure out of the corner of his eye, but Michael had yet to turn his head the proper way in order to see who was there.

Dean fought hard to keep his blurry, distorted perspective of what was going on. It was easier with Michael weak, but he still continued his attempts to push Dean to silence. Michael said something that Dean didn’t catch. The figure to their side muttered an answer.

Dean caught the next scratchy, far away words that Michael uttered, “I’m going to die.”

Michael turned toward the figure in the room, a woman. She was leisurely leaning against the wall, unconcerned with Michael’s fight to live and Dean’s fight to stay aware. Her soft curtain of red hair was familiar, but Dean was too focused to pick at where he knew her from.

A strong force slammed against him, dragging him out of reality and back to his little pit inside his own mind. Michael had succeeded in his attempts to put Dean away. Dean began his fight for breath again...

Dean’s eyes flipped open. Static rang into his ears through headphones that had once blasted classic rock. He wrenched them off and tossed them aside. They bounced insignificantly on the mattress. With Dean’s ears now free from the crackling static, he became aware of how deadly silent it was in the Bunker.

He got up off his bed and made his way over to his door that was oddly left wide open. Footsteps echoed from the hall. Dean crinkled his brow, looking out into the hall. “Sam?” 

Dean’s fingers parted from the door he was about to close. He walked down the hall, calling out again, as he followed the curve of the walls.

A scene of carnage greeted him in the next hall. The hunters’ bodies littered the Bunker’s floor, some had been thrown on top of others, their limp limbs carelessly falling on their fellow fighters. Some lay untouched by their companions, disposed of at the foot of the Bunker’s halls. All of them had dark, scorched eye sockets.

Dean came to a violent stop. He couldn’t breathe. It felt like his very skin was on fire. He felt the sensation that he was falling, despite the fact that he continued to stand there wall-like, staring at the deceased people.

Amongst the bodies he noticed a familiar corpse. Dean did not register moving his legs, but somehow he found himself at the body’s side. He put his fingers to the man’s neck. He was cold and stiff, no living heartbeat thundering through. Dean dropped his brother’s dead head back down. Sam’s slack neck made his head hit the stone floor with a thump. Dean stared down at those hollow eye sockets.

“Sam?” Dean’s voice cracked.

A tear fell from his eye as he looked up. There he saw his mother with the same burned-out eyes, Jack lying next to her. Dean’s eyes were blurred, filled with tears that he no longer cared to stop. Then he saw Cas. His eyes were completely intact, but the once dark blue was glazed over, looking out lifelessly. A small hole in his shirt was situated right over his heart, it was only red around the edges.

“I warned you, Dean.” Michael stood behind the bodies, wearing Dean’s face and dressed in his fine brown suit and red tie. “I told you this would happen.”

Dean’s mouth had turned to ash. He sat there numb, staring at his doppelganger.

Michael curved his face into a creepy smile that Dean hoped he had never made naturally in his life. “And now you’re mine, Dean. Just mine… trapped with me for eternity.”

Dean looked back down at his brother’s face, empty of any life. There was blood at his mouth. Perhaps he had fought back, long enough to be hit, but only for the fight to end abruptly when Michael burned out his life. Dean looked back to Michael, he was still using Dean’s face to smile.

Tears dripped from Dean’s eyes. He wrapped his hands into fists. Every part of him was shaking and screaming with fear. He felt like he was about to blow apart. The dead bodies at his feet were too much. It was as if every time he had ever been afraid accumulated into that one moment. A deep part inside of him whimpered. Only then did he awaken.

Dean shot up in his bed. Sweat plagued his brow and his covers were twisted around him. He gave a shuddering exhale and reminded himself it was only a dream. A nightmare. And he was well acquainted with those.

Dean looked over to his wall. When they had gotten home to the Bunker, Dean indeed found things in a much different state. Sam’s little hunter proteges crowded the place and soon whisked him off for their attention. Sam may have warned him, but Dean still felt uncomfortable seeing so many people at home in the Bunker. He ditched the crowd for his room. There he had put together a wall of all the information they had about Michael, plastering it all next to each other in an intricate map of evidence and photos.

Dean freed himself from the tangled covers and stood in front of the shrine. His eyes drifted from the few pictures of the known weapons that could hurt Michael to the photos of Greg Derricks, Chloe Stuhr, Rosa Sanchez, and Sister Jo. He settled on Jo’s DMV’s photo.

Her red hair was flatter than he had seen moments before in his dream. She stared straight ahead at the camera, looking entirely normal. They all looked normal. Just people who had been taken and used. Dean exhaled sharply. He reached for his phone off his side table. His finger hovered over the call button next to his mother’s contact when he noticed the black numbers on the top of the screen. It was just barely after three-thirty in the morning. He sighed and threw the phone on his bed. He knew one thing, his throat longed for the taste of burning alcohol.

***

Most of the time Castiel spent nights in the Bunker alone, reading, researching, and watching late-night TV. Lately, no matter how late Cas was up, Sam was almost always up too, and the hours were spent with no differentiation from the daylight. Tonight, however, was the first night in months that the Bunker was completely empty and dark in the first hours of the morning. So when Cas walked past the kitchen and noticed the light on, he was surprised.

He entered the kitchen to find Dean sitting at the table, staring off into space, glass of whiskey in hand. “I thought you were sleeping?”

Dean’s head snapped in Cas’s direction, a sharp, startled movement. He exhaled slowly. “I was, now I’m not.”

Castiel picked up a whiskey glass as he headed to the table. Drinking was useless to Castiel, even with his diminished angelic powers, he still had to consume a surplus of alcohol in order to get drunk, and he still couldn’t pick up any taste from it. He sat down across from Dean at the table and poured himself a glass. The alcohol was something of a peace offering, a leisurely activity that if Cas participated in would allow him to understand whatever was running through Dean’s mind.

“Are you alright, Dean?” Cas asked as he sipped his drink.

“Mmm, yeah.” Despite the fact that Cas had sat right in front of Dean, he was still staring off into space.

After a moment Dean cleared his throat. “Did, uh- Did Sam tell you what happened? When we left the hospital?”

“You mean about the flashbacks?”

Dean pursed his lips and nodded, he seemed reluctant to reach his point. “I was just thinkin’, if I could remember that, maybe I could remember all of what he did. If you could, you know, get into my head, access the memories.”

“No.”

For the first time since Cas had entered the kitchen, Dean looked directly into his eyes. They were hard, stubborn, and desperate. “Why not?” His tone was irritated, but his voice was flat, as if he was trying to challenge Cas in some game.

Cas leaned forward ever so slightly. “Dean, I can hardly heal you without you being in pain. Your wound is not yet healed, the magic from whatever stabbed you is still there. Me trying to get into your head would be agonizing, it could possibly kill you.”

Dean looked away from Cas and gave a frustrated huff. He emptied his glass. “Fine. Then I’m heading out. Our best lead is Sister Jo, so I’ll head over to help Mom and Rowena.”

Dean stood from the table.

“Aren’t you gonna wait ‘til morning? Until Sam wakes up?”

Dean gave one small shake of his head. “Sam’s got his own stuff to deal with. The quicker I head out, the more I can help.” He gave a bitter smile and began crossing the room.

“Then I’ll come with you.”

“Fine, I’m leaving in five though.” He didn’t look back at Cas as he left the kitchen.

Cas stared down at his barely drunk copper liquor. He swirled it in the glass, then took the rest of it down all at once. His glass clinked against Dean’s empty one when he set it back down on the table. Then he followed Dean out of the kitchen, turning off the light as he went.


	9. Missing Pieces

_Five days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

It was certainly fair to say Cas was more than a little worried about Dean. He drove near breakneck speed to get to Iowa, the last place that Rowena had tracked Sister Jo to. He cranked up his music so that Cas couldn’t get a word in edgewise, and drummed his thumbs on the Impala’s steering wheel with agitation. Around six in the morning, Dean’s cell rang. Dean grudgingly answered and Cas listened as Dean gave smartass comments to the person, presumably Sam, on the other line. He stopped only once at a rest stop and by the time they arrived at the motel where Mary was staying, Dean still hadn’t eaten breakfast or anything close to it.

Even before they knocked on door 24 of the Roadside Inn Cas heard raised voices from inside. Mary opened the door at the rasping of Dean’s knuckles. Upon seeing them her shoulders dropped and she smiled, lighting up her blue eyes.

“Dean.” Her voice was soft with happiness. She then gave her son a light hug while Cas slipped inside.

Cas took note of the small motel room. The motel had gone for some sort of vehicle theme, with small cars on the wallpaper that looked like it belonged in a child’s bedroom, a divider with cheap and flat plastic tires, and the whole room full of reds, blacks, and greys. Cas thought it was a horrible choice for any room.

The elegantly dressed Rowena looked out of place sitting at the table in the kitchenette. A spellbook that Cas did not recognize was laid out before her.

“Took you boys long enough to get here,” she announced from her seat at the table.

Mary brushed off the comment and looked up at Dean. “I thought you had only just gotten back to the Bunker?”

“Yeah, we did. But finding Michael’s our priority and Jo’s our only lead.”

Mary nodded.

“So what you guys got?”

Mary gave Rowena an annoyed look. “So far, nothing. All Rowena’s spells still can’t seem to find her.”

Rowena’s face went sour. “Like I said, the angel must be using some sort of counterspell, I can’t locate her directly. Perhaps if you understood the intricacies of witchcraft-”

Mary scoffed at her. “It doesn’t matter, the point is we-” Rowena cleared her throat. “ _Rowena_ tracked her here yesterday.”

“And she is still here, trust me.”

“What the hell are we waiting for then? Let’s spread out, find her,” Dean urgently cut in. 

“Easier said than done. So far she’s only gone to out-of-the-way towns, she never stays anywhere too long, and she has little contact with others. Interviewing people will be a nightmare,” Mary said.

“Interviewing townsfolk would be much quicker my way,” Rowena suggested in a near sing-song voice.

“We’re not doing it if it boils brains.” Dean pointed sternly at her with the vague reminisce of a parent scolding a child. Then he turned to leave through the door he had only come in minutes before.

***

Castiel was beginning to understand why they had been greeted by shouts as they knocked on the door of Mary’s motel room. While Mary and Dean had gone alone to question people, Mary asked Cas to go with Rowena, fearing that she was too risky to have unsupervised. Rowena didn’t seem to mind, and Cas was fine with it at first.

Rowena was smart, powerful, and strong, but she was impatient with menial tasks, such as interviewing townspeople. She spent most of the time complaining into Cas’s ear and noting how many spells she knew that could take care of this much faster. All of them usually involved people’s insides turning to slop or other awful side effects. Cas knew she wasn’t serious, at least, he was pretty sure she wasn’t serious.

When they got to the seventh place they’d looked into, Rowena stayed in the car listening to a classical music station she had found. Meanwhile, Cas questioned locals if they had seen a woman resembling Jo.

Cas was starting to take Mary’s side, he was pretty sure Jo was not in the small town. He finished talking to a man who insisted he was not religious and that he did not know this “Sister Jo” and he didn’t want to when Mary sent him a text message. She stated that no one had found anything and suggested they should rendezvous back at the motel.

Cas sighed and headed back down the street. People were slipping in and out of the small shops, talking to each other pleasantly in the midsummer’s warmth. Suddenly, from behind him, he heard a faint “Castiel”. He stopped, turning around sharply.

The high sun made her auburn hair look like fire and an annoyed expression set in her lipstick-painted lips.

Cas slightly opened his mouth in surprise. “We’ve been looking for you.”

The sides of Anael’s lips turned up further in annoyance. “Oh, I know.” People passed them on the street. She gestured to the hometown diner they were standing next to. “Shall we talk?”

Surprisingly, the noon hour did not equate to a busy diner, and Anael sat at the table closest to the door. Cas pulled his coat closer to him as he sat down.

“Trying to heal the sick and wounded is hard when you have to keep moving from a witch who’s trying to locate you.” Anael’s face was overly dissatisfied. “I get it, you want information about Michael, so let’s make a deal.”

Cas gave a slight roll of his eyes. “You want money?”

Anael laughed lightly. “Oh, doesn’t everyone? But I’ll settle for the same deal I made with Michael. I want exclusion. Whatever happens, however I’m tied into it, I don’t want you, the Winchesters, or anyone affiliated with you to contact me. You’ll let me do what I do and we’ll leave each other alone.”

Cas squinted his eyes. “You made this same deal with Michael?”

“Exact same one. I don’t want to be a part of any war you two bring down on each other.”

“How do I know you’re not lying and working for Michael?”

Anael gave Cas a bored look. “Castiel, you know what I did in Heaven before the fall, I was no one, I had nothing. Trust me, I don’t want to go back to following Michael’s orders blindly.”

Cas nodded. It was clear that Anael had been dissatisfied with her former job and that her life on Earth had turned out much more comfortable for her. She was right, Cas couldn’t see her voluntarily signing up for Michael’s army and if she had been threatened, well Cas was pretty sure Anael was a hard being to threaten, even if you happened to be a powerful archangel. He was confident the angel would rather die laughing up her own blood then be forced to conform.

“Fine.” Cas made up his mind. “We won’t bother you. What happened then?”

“Michael came to me at the church I was working in. He was bleeding, asked me to help heal him. There was something wrong with the wound, some sort of magic, I couldn’t heal him. We made a deal and he ended up leaving Dean Winchester’s vessel. That was all,” she answered curtly.

“What stabbed him? Why’d he come to you?”

“I don’t know what stabbed him, I don’t know where he came from or what he was doing. I suppose he came to me because we are the only two angels left on Earth, and you definitely wouldn’t have helped him.”

“Why did you save Dean?”

“I told you. I don’t want any part of your war. I helped Michael, I helped the Winchesters, everything’s even.”

“That’s all you know?”

“That's it. Seems like you've wasted your time tracking me down.”

Cas looked down at the metal table. Her information wasn’t particularly useful, it was basically what they already knew. She was just another dead end.

“Great.” Anael picked up her handbag. “Well good luck fighting the most powerful archangel ever. Goodbye. Forever.” She stood and left the diner and he watched her walk back up the street, there was no reason to go after her. Dean was certainly not going to be happy that her information turned out to be nothing. 

***

Before getting back to the motel Mary stopped by a local burger dive to pick up lunch for herself and Dean, knowing that Castiel wouldn’t eat and Rowena would scrunch her face up at the cheap greasy American food.

When she entered room 24, Dean was already inside sitting at the table, on his phone. “I brought food.” She placed the brown paper bag on the table in front of her son. “Bacon cheeseburger and fries.”

Dean had looked tired when he had first arrived at the motel, now he looked exhausted. His eyes were weighed down by the want for sleep and there was the beginning of dark circles under them. She had a feeling the night before wasn’t the first time since he got back that he had suffered an uneasy sleep. But Sam had never told her that there was anything off about Dean, not until he randomly left the Bunker without him. Her son unrolled the paper bag and took out a fry.

“Maybe you or Sam could find out what car Jo is driving and search for it through, I don’t know, cameras and stuff?”

“Rowena’s magic can find her more accurately.”

“Dean, Rowena’s a witch. Why exactly can we trust her? And why’d you leave without Sam anyway?” Mary suddenly felt like the room had become very awkward. “Is there something else going on?”

Dean scoffed. “Nothing’s ‘going on’, why does no one understand how urgent it is to find Michael? I’m not just gonna sit around in the Bunker when he has to be taken care of. I want to be on top of this, I just didn’t want to wait around for Sam. And Rowena might have... questionable ways, but she ends up doing the right thing. Hell, she helped us get you back.” Dean’s voice was raised, but the ache of exhaustion behind it stopped it from getting to the yelling point.

Mary nodded sheepishly. “We’ll find Michael, Dean. We will. As for Rowena, she might be an ally, but if she complains about my music, my driving, or my choice in motels one more time, I might shoot her.” That at least got a soft smile from Dean’s hard face. “Seriously, she insists on staying at five-star hotels miles away from the motel I choose and not waking up until at least after eight. Not the best hunting partner.” Dean gave her a huff of a laugh as he unfolded the aluminum foil around his burger.

The room settled into quietness as Mary dug into the paper bag and pulled out a french fry. Then, Cas opened the door and entered the room, Rowena behind him. Dean didn’t take notice of them, instead, he bit into his burger.

“Dean, we found Sister Jo.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up and he quickly swallowed his mouthful. He was on his feet in second. “What? Where?”

“I talked to her downtown. She told me everything she knew about Michael.”

“Just like that?” Mary looked questingly at the angel.

“I had to make a deal with her.”

“A deal?” Dean sounded disbelieving. He stepped forward to say something more, but the moment he did he grunted in pain and grabbed his still wounded side.

“Dean?” Cas was soon next to him.

“I’m okay.” Dean sounded exasperated at having to repeat those words. “I just moved the wrong way.”

Rowena was still in the corner by the door. Her eyes were gleaming with interest. “You're still hurt? I thought Feathers here would’ve taken care of that?”

Dean had sat down again but he looked fine, the pang of pain seeming to have passed. “Apparently Michael went and got himself stabbed by a magic knife, Cas can’t fully heal it.”

“Interesting.” She looked thoughtfully for a moment. “Well, you know one person who has dealt with magic her entire life.”

Cas stared at her. “You think you can heal it?”

“I’ve studied magic for hundreds of years, I’m sure I can unravel one simple stab wound.”

“Wait a second.” Mary looked askance at the witch. Her boys might see her as a friend but all Mary saw when she looked at her was a big flashing red sign that screamed _WITCH!_ “You’re just going to use your magic to stitch him up? Dean?”

“It can’t hurt any more than when Cas tries.”

Mary sighed and settled her jaw in a tight clench as the witch went closer to her son. He leaned back against the wall and lifted his shirt slightly so that his deep wound was showing. Rowena hovered her hand an inch or two above the wound and closed her eyes, the same way that Cas did when he healed someone. Mary stood there watching them. When Rowena’s eyes opened again, the wound was the same as before.

“Strange,” she said in a low voice. Mary leaned forward. “The magic has a specific signature, I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

“So you can’t heal it?” Mary asked flatly.

“I didn’t say that.” She closed her eyes again and whispered something in a foreign tongue Mary didn’t understand. Dean’s wound threaded itself back together before her eyes. When Rowena turned away, the only thing that was left of the hole was a small thin scar that would probably fade in time.

Dean touched the scar lightly and then, as if being healed by a three-hundred-year-old witch with unspeakable power was just another Tuesday, gave a simple “Thanks.”

Rowena gave one firm nod. “Like I said, I’ve never felt a magical signature like that. I would like to put some research into it, perhaps even find out what it came from.”

“You could do that?”

“Perhaps, it depends on if I have come across something like it before. Then again, there is little magic I have not come across.” She winked at Dean.

Dean looked like someone had just informed him today was now Christmas. Then, remembering himself, he turned to Cas, “What about Jo?”

Cas began retelling what had happened in the diner while Mary and Dean chewed on their lunch and Rowena pulled out a spellbook and buried her head in it.

***

An hour later, Mary was packing up her things when Dean’s cell rang.

“Yeah? What?! Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker.”

The phone gave a beep and Sam’s voice rang out. “Jack did some research and found Greg Derricks.”

“Where?!” Cas asked.

“Dead. In a ditch. I went to talk with the coroner in the town he was found, his insides were goo like everything melted.”

Mary had stopped packing, her eyebrows were raised high.

“What the hell? Michael abducted him and then just melted his insides?” No one answered Dean. “We gotta find out what he’s up to.”

“Yeah,” Sam said over the phone, “I’m heading back to the Bunker now. What about you guys, you found Jo?”

“Yeah, she wasn’t much help. We’ll tell you when we get back to the Bunker, we’re gonna take off soon.”

“Okay, see you then.” Sam hung up.

Dean looked to Cas with pleading eyes. “Magical stab wound is gone and now there’s a dead guy. Maybe time to figure out the missing piece?”

Cas sighed. Mary looked at them in confusion. “What do you mean?” She asked.

“Dean wants me to get inside his head and access his memories of what Michael did when he was possessed.”

“You can do that?”

“Yes, but it will be unpleasant.”

Dean huffed, he had a wicked smile on his face that he always got before doing something stupid. “Let’s light it up.”

Dean pulled out a chair and sat down, Cas stood behind him. Mary watched with an anxious look while sitting down on her bed.

“Just one memory. Just of Greg Derricks.”

“That’s all it will take.” Dean sounded excited but Cas felt more like he was about to tap the giant crack running along a dam and pray it wouldn’t break the whole thing down.

“Think of Greg, try to focus on what little we know about him. And close your eyes.” Castiel rested his hands on Dean’s head, his eyes closed as well...

Small scenes flashed before Cas: Anael in a church with Michael, Donatello’s death scene, then finally he settled on a memory in a white throne room. Michael was facing at God’s throne, he looked to his side where a familiar angel stood.

“Hurting them, choking them won’t help you gain their loyalty,” Naomi said.

“My power is what gives me their loyalty,” Michael answered arrogantly.

“Don’t be so sure. The angels here aren’t like the ones you knew, they’ve been through a lot, they’ve been led astray before,” she paused, “Do you understand that taking Dean Winchester as your vessel means that his family, his brother, will come after you? And they will not yield to show any mercy when getting Dean back. Are you prepared to deal with that?”

“Leave all that to me, Naomi. Just make sure these angels do what I ask. You are all the beginning of a great change to come, we couldn’t have anyone rebelling, could we?”

Naomi pursed her lips with a look of disappointment.

“My Lord.” The angel, Dumah, had entered the throne room. Michael turned to her. “I have what you asked for.” She was carrying a wooden box that she held it out for Michael. “It was deep in Heaven, but it hasn’t been touched since The Keepers died in the Great Fall.”

Michael nodded and took the box. “Thank you, Dumah. You are dismissed.”

She gave him one curious look and then scampered off.

“What do you need those for?”

Michael gave a slight shake of his head. “The Naomi I knew did not ask so many questions and did not have so many suggestions. She did as she was told.”

“Yes, well, we are all different, aren’t we?”

Michael opened the box, within there were many old paper scrolls. Michael took one out and carefully unrolled it. Inside there was a list of names, written in two long lines next to each other. The top one read Gregory Derricks. Chloe Stuhr was also among them, and mixed in with the other unrecognizable names was James and Claire Novak.

So they were vessels.

There were thousands of angelic vessels on Earth, angels didn’t generally know who they were, occasionally knowing one or two, at least in the time of Heaven’s greatness. As it turned out, Heaven had them all recorded. Secret information Cas had never known, but Michael knew. Of course, Michael knew.

Only Archangels had true vessels, the others just took the ones that they could find, but back in the old days, they had taken the ones Michael had told them to. Michael had even told Cas to take Jimmy and yet Cas had never wondered how he knew which humans were vessels.

“Castiel!” Mary’s voice rang through Cas, interrupting his thoughts and the stolen memory. He opened his eyes. “What did you do?!” Mary screamed.

Cas lifted his hands off Dean’s head, which fell slackly to the side. He could hear Dean’s sharp and heavy breaths.

“Dean?” Mary was kneeling by his side.

Cas rounded the chair to stand in front of Dean. He was pale, there were tears trailing his cheeks, and his lips were parted and trembling. He spoke shakily, “Well, that hurt like a sonbitch.”

“Dean, I- I didn’t know you were in pain,” Cas said with astonishment. He hadn’t even felt an inkling of the pain Dean had been in, the memory had taken up all his attention. He felt something similar to guilt twist his gut.

“It’s cool, Cas. You said it would be unpleasant.” Dean tried to wipe the lost tears from his face without drawing any attention.

“‘Unpleasant’?” Mary looked horrified. “Dean, you could have died! You were screaming like someone had stabbed you with a red-hot knife!”

“I’m good, Mom. I promise.” He grunted as he stood.

“Dean, I didn’t know,” Cas repeated again.

Mary rubbed her hand down her face.

“It’s fine, Cas. I’m fine. We have bigger things to worry about.”

“Bigger-” Anger painted Mary’s face, but Dean didn’t let her finish, his eyes were now looking at Cas.

They had lost the excited innocence they had held before Cas had entered his mind, now replaced by fears and worries. “Claire,” Dean said the name with a simmering panic, and Cas’s face dropped with his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting chapters faster than I can actually write them, so I'll have to hold off on posting this Sunday and wait until next week's Thursday to post the next chapter. But, as always, thank you for reading!


	10. The Problem with Trust

_Five days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

The black Chevy Impala flew down the road at a shuttering speed towards Sioux Falls. Dean had finally convinced Mary he was okay and that she should head back to the Bunker to keep base and Cas had long ago texted Sam what was happening. Now it was him and Dean flying down the country road.

“Goddammit!” Dean swore from his place in the driver’s seat. He had tried to call Claire three times with no answer. Then he called Jody. Still, no answer. 

He looked like he was ready to throw the phone out the window with a slew of cuss words. Instead, he tried again.

Luckily, Cas had convinced Dean to put the phone on speaker when he first tried Claire’s cell, therefore, he heard Jody’s simple, “Yeah?” when she finally answered.

“What the hell, Jody!? Where’s Claire?”

“She’s on a case, why? What’s up?” She didn’t sound worried, just cautious from Dean’s very apparent anger.

“When was the last time you talked to her?”

“Last night. Dean, what’s going on?”

“Jody?” Cas cut in over the line, “It’s Cas. We think Michael may be after Claire.”

“What?” Now she sounded panicked. “Why?”

“He’s after vessels, Jody,” Dean explained, “We don’t know why, but we think Claire might be in danger. We can’t get a hold of her.”

Cas could hear Jody’s quick, scared breaths through the phone. He supposed if he was human he would reflect them, but he was an angel and the fear for Claire bubbled inside him but did little to show itself on the surface.

“Okay, I’ll try-”

“Wait, Jody. Where’d she go?”

“She caught a case just outside Norfolk, Nebraska. I told her she could take it alone. It seemed pretty black and white. Two people found dead, ripped apart. She left yesterday.”

“We’re gonna head that way, tell us if she answers you.”

“Then I’ll be heading out there too.” She said it sternly, as if putting Dean into his place despite that Dean hadn’t attempted to argue. Jody hung up.

“Cas, text Sam, update him.”

Cas pulled back out his phone as the Impala whipped around in a U-turn.

***

The turn signal of Jody’s truck flashed red and Sam watched as she turned into a parking lot of a sleazy bar. After checking out Claire’s motel room to find it full of Claire’s things but not Claire herself, Jody suggested checking out local bars; places Claire might have stopped to do research or talk to witnesses. Jody led the way, looking for anywhere that she felt like Claire might stop by, while the Impala followed.

“Really?” Sam said judgingly.

“Somethin’ wrong with it, Sam? Looks classy to me.” Sam could tell by his brother’s tone that he was teasing, but Sam could also see it as the exact place Dean would pick for a night of beers and drunk karaoke.

The Impala pulled up next to Jody’s truck. Sam and Dean got out, donning their fed threads. Jody was already waiting for them. She was wearing classic flannel and jeans but her badge was hanging on her belt in case she had to persuade someone to talk.

The bar was pretty full, possibly disproving Sam’s initial thought of its outward shithole appearance. They made their way to the front where a man was tending the bar.

Jody didn’t waste any time, she caught his eye, pulled out her badge, and placed a photo of Claire on the sticky-looking counter. “ Have you seen this girl?”

The man looked down. “Yeah, she came in last night. I served her some drinks.”

Jody’s face was hard, it would have been difficult for anyone to tell she had any personal connection to the blonde-haired girl in the photo. “What else?”

“She in trouble or something?”

“Your information could possibly save her life, so start talking.”

The man sighed. “She went to sit with another girl over there.” He gestured to a table. “They talked for a while, then started making out. Didn’t stay long after that.”

“What did this other girl look like?”

“Young, probably about the same age as the blonde one. She had dark hair. Looked to me like some preppy kid who’d ditched her suburb house for the night.”

“You know where they went?”

“Yeah, because I have so much downtime I just figure out where young women live. I’m not some fuckin’ creep, lady. That’s all I got and there are customers, so?” Jody nodded and the bartender turned to ask some already drunk man what he wanted.

Sam scanned the room. Nothing seemed off about it, just people having drinks, talking loudly, and playing darts.

“So Claire came to the bar, to what?” Dean rolled the thoughts off his tongue. “Research? To eat? Ended up hooking up with some lady, sorry Jody.” Jody waved her hand dismissively. Her face was fallen with worry. “You think the girl was a monster or something?” He turned to Sam.

“No,” it was Jody that spoke, “Claire’s not that sloppy. She must’ve been human.”

The boys nodded. But Sam wasn’t so sure. He knew Claire was a good hunter, but even Dean and him had been fooled by a pretty face that turned out to be something much more sinister.

“Okay, I say we look around town more, figure out what she was working on. Best way to find her.” Dean appeared calm, but Sam knew his brother. He could see the worry behind his tired eyes, the way he drummed his fingers against his thigh with nervousness.

Even in the hospital, hopped up on whatever meds they gave him, Dean had slept restlessly. It was easy to understand he was still haunted by his time with Michael, but if something happened to Claire… If she got hurt because of Michael, Sam knew Dean would spiral. Jody would be able to muddle through, but Dean… Dean would blame himself and that little obsessed shrine in his room would swell until it consumed him.

Sam shook the thoughts, no need to think like that now. Claire might not have even been taken by Michael. She could have just gotten in over her head on a case, she could still be entirely okay. Sam sighed at his stupidly optimistic thoughts. When did they ever get a break like that?

***

Jack had never seen Cas so frantic. Yet, he wasn’t, not the way he had seen other hunters or humans get. No, it was subtle, but the way Cas searched Claire’s room up and down for anything, the way he searched it all, looking for any shred of evidence, the way Jack could almost feel the worry seeping out of the angel, made him realize this girl was much more important to him than Jack knew. 

In the end, Cas found nothing useful. Jack suggested searching her computer, but they had no luck because neither of them could figure out the password. Jack offered to talk to the motel manager, and Cas stayed to relook through Claire’s things.

The manager also wasn’t helpful. He knew nothing about her except what room she had and what she had paid with. Despite getting zero convenient information, Jack felt slightly proud that he had convinced the man all on his own that he was with the FBI, until it occurred to him he’d probably seen him coming in with the others when they had first come to get into Claire’s room.

He walked back to the room somberly.

“Why so glum, Jack?”

Jack turned, looking down the path between the motel buildings that was hazy with the fleeting evening light. Leaning against one of the buildings was a young woman, she had light skin with a deep tan, long brown hair that fell in a mess over one side, a septum nose ring, and an unlit cigarette hanging from her mouth.

Jack scowled. “What do you want?”

She smiled, still holding the unused cigarette in her mouth. “A light maybe?” When he continued to glare at her she rolled her eyes. “Fine, I helped you once, why can’t I do it again?”

“You didn’t help me. I found Greg.”

“Yeah, but I gave you the tools to do so.”

Jack sighed, technically she was right.

Earlier that day Jack had been on a shopping trip because Sam had seemed to have forgotten that they needed food at the Bunker, and one of the AU Hunters was already heading into town. He caught a ride, knowing well enough that Sam probably wouldn’t even know he was gone. 

It was then, when Jack was alone in the small Lebanon grocery store, that she had come up to him. It wasn’t like he wanted her too or summoned her or something, at first he hadn’t even known who she was, but soon she revealed herself to be the demon, Kris, back from Hell.

Jack had picked up the silver knife he now always carried with him, he knew it wouldn’t hurt her, but he thought it was better to have some weapon than none at all. She insisted he didn’t need the knife, she only wanted to talk.

She had given a sweet smile. “I get it, Jack,” she had said, “I know what it’s like to be left out, the outcast, moved to the sidelines while the ‘grown-ups’ do the work. You and me, we’re more similar than you think. And we both want Michael dead. I can help you, Jack. I can help you get your powers back.”

That caught Jack’s attention, he stared at her with curiosity.

“You think your grace was just taken from you and that’s it? No, Jack. Your power is more than grace, you’re a Nephilim, that’s pure power. It’s in every part of your being. You just gotta learn to access it again.”

There was something about her. For some reason, Jack could feel she was telling the truth. Perhaps it was his misstep with his father, perhaps he had learned his lesson on who not to trust. She held out an old piece of parchment.

“Just a few words of Enochian, Jack. Said in a specific order. You got all those books in your clubhouse. Decipher it, you’ll find it checks out. It will allow you to access your power. Take it for a test run, do something small, see if it works.”

She left after that and Jack went back to the Bunker. He did as she said, researching the Enochian, and the thing was, it did check out. It almost seemed like he had found the spell in one of the Bunker’s books; a spell to reflect angelic powers. If he could get even a little of his power back, they might be able to finally defeat Michael. It would be just like back before Lucifer had stolen his grace when he was powerful and useful. 

After a little more waffling back and forth, Jack used the spell… and it didn’t feel sinister. The magic felt familiar, it felt like his. Like his own power, back again. It was within him only long enough to find Greg Derricks, a simple test run like Kris had suggested but it felt natural, like breathing, nothing more.

He had planned to do some more research on it before even trying to use it again, but here he was, staring at Kris who had taken the cancer stick out of her mouth and was rolling it between her fingers. “You’re one spell away from finding the girl, Jack.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“I told you, I know what it’s like to be the outcast. I know what it’s like to be left behind, to be not paid attention to. More than any of that, I want Michael dead-”

“Finding Claire doesn’t help get Michael dead.”

“Well, no, but it does help you boys put his puzzle together, which is closer to killing him. I gotta go, but I’ll let you boys know when I got anything.” She gave a sweet smile. He knew he shouldn’t trust her, but she seemed to hold answers no one else knew about. Jack knew she was dangerous, that she was a demon, but couldn’t he use her for her knowledge like he’d seen the Winchesters do? It wasn’t like she was doing anything anyway. Like she said, she brought the tools, the rest was pure Jack.

“Bye, kid.” The demon, Kris, disappeared behind the building. Jack didn’t try to go after her.

Jack reached into his pocket. He carefully unfolded the old piece of paper he kept there, it was thin, as if it was about to crumble at any moment. He looked down at the Enochian words.

Jack sighed. If nothing had gone wrong the first time, how bad could it be to use his power to find Claire? He felt a slight bubble settle between his ribs. If he even mentioned this to Sam or Dean or Cas they would never let him do it. They would push him to the side and take over, leaving him in the Bunker for more “hunting lessons”.

Jack whispered the Enochian words under his breath and felt the pure calm energy run through him, then it was gone much too soon.

***

Halfway around the world, Michael smiled. All his tiny pieces were falling perfectly in their places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should say something about the choice I made with Jack... but I got nothing. Basically my reasoning is that he's literally two years old, and all the Winchesters have made questionable choices on who to trust, and he just wants to be helpful. I don't know, I hope he doesn't come off as stupid, that was not my intention at all.  
> I also did a lot of writing/editing/outlining for this story over the week and I realized it's going to be much longer than I originally thought... whoops, so just a friendly warning about that.


	11. Wired

_Five days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

“You want to talk about it?”

“What?” Dean gave a wide innocent glance at Sam before turning back to the road.

Sam and Dean were sitting in the Impala, driving back to the motel while Jody was following behind. And Sam knew. Sure his brother was fine on the outside, apparently, powerful witch beat magic from a mysterious angel-killing weapon, which Sam was still trying to figure out. But Sam knew Dean wasn’t anywhere close to fine.

He had spent most of his time in the hospital in near-complete silence. Now, he had kicked into full speed ahead, despite the fact that he couldn’t even see where the road was. Which was basic Dean behavior. Still, Sam wanted him to open up about that crazy spinning mind of his. Five days was more than enough time for him to stew in his own juices, it was time for him to spill.

“Michael. Being possessed. Any of it?”

“Oh.” He stopped darkly. “No. I’m good,” he added with a faux peppy tone.

Of course, another shut down. Sam was sure the number of times they had started this conversation in the last five days must be in the low hundreds by now. He would think Dean would get tired of shutting him down. “Right, sorry, forgot you were Mr. Indestructible.”

Dean gave him a flat look. “There’s honestly nothing to talk about. I was possessed by an angel, now I’m not, big whoop.”

“And that’s just a normal life milestone?”

“For our family? Yeah, Sam, it is.” He paused, green eyes searching the road ahead. “Listen, Michael wants to deep-fry this world same as he did with his, so we gotta find him and kill him before he accomplishes that little dream. That’s all I’m doing, following his trail so we can put down the son of a bitch before this gets out of hand. Tell me your feelings aren’t hurt because I went to Iowa without you?”

Sam huffed. “It’s not about that, Dean. It’s more about the fact that you left before dawn.”

“Well, early bird gets the worm. How about you stop trying to give me therapy or whatever and pick up your damn phone.”

Dean was right, Sam’s phone was buzzing and he hadn’t noticed it. He picked it up. Cas was on the other line, “Sam? Jack talked to the motel manager. Apparently, Claire asked him about abandoned buildings in the area. He mentioned an old factory north, off the highway. Claire might be there.”

“Tell Jack nice work. We’ll head up there, now.”

***

“Ready?” Dean put his clip of silver bullets into his gun. With no way of knowing what to expect, and whether or not it was even Michael’s goons who had taken Claire, both him and Sam and Jody were equipped with guns, machetes, angel blades, and small flashlights to see in the growing night.

“Aren’t we waiting for the others?” Jody asked, preparing her gun as well.

“They can’t be more than ten minutes away, Dean,” Sam said.

Dean rolled his eyes. They didn’t have time for this. “And who knows what could happen in those ten minutes. We go in now. You ready?”

Sam sighed. “Ready.”

“Good.” And he took off, leading to the side door of the old rickety building.

The door was unlocked, too rusted for anyone to even try to lock it, and Dean led into the deserted old factory, gun at the ready, held steady on his flashlight arm. Sam and Jody walked behind him on either side, giving him cover and making sure nothing came from behind.

There was the faint sound of water dripping but otherwise, it was quiet. The building was small, mostly just hallways that lead to other rooms. There was no way it used to be a factory, probably used for some type of business office. Had it really been there so long that no one remembered what it had been? It seemed unlikely. 

Somewhere at the back of Dean's mind, there was the faint whisper saying, _Trap!_ He brushed away the paranoid itch and entered into one of the halls. His ears were perked, ready for the slightest sound to indicate an enemy. His heart was beating against his sternum, not a rough thundering, but the simple thrum drum that it always had made, and would always make, in similar situations.

When they got to the doors that came off the hallway, Dean looked back at his brother. Sam nodded at him. As Jody kept her gun pointed down the hallway in case of an attack, Dean counted to three, then kicked the door open. He heard Sam’s foot collide with the door behind him at the same time. Inside Dean’s room there was an old torn-apart office chair and some discarded papers, but nothing else. Dean turned back to Sam. His room was vacant as well. They turned back down the hall.

The next set of doors. Dean and Sam gave each other a silent look. _One. Two. Three._ Kick.

The door flew open. Inside there was a small cot in the corner, a blonde-haired girl was lying facedown on it, blood matted in her hair.

“Claire!” Jody ran past Dean.

On the floor, there were two people dead. The product of slit throats.

Jody got to Claire and tugged at her arm.

“Jody,” Claire whispered.

Jody wrapped her arms around the young woman.

“I’m gonna search the perimeter, see if anyone else is here.” Sam’s voice made Dean jump. He turned back to his brother to nod, but Sam was already gone.

He looked back to the mother and daughter pair. “Claire? What happened?”

She pulled her chin off Jody’s shoulder and looked at him. But Dean couldn’t pull his eyes away from the scarlet blood entangled in her hair long enough to look her in the eye. Cas would be here soon. Cas would heal her.

“I thought-” She looked down at the dead woman on the ground. “I met her at the bar. We went outside. He came from behind.” Claire gestured to the dead guy on the floor. “Hit me over the head.” Her voice was drowsy. The sound of it made Dean’s stomach drop. “They took me here. Shitty job at tying ropes though. And they didn’t look for weapons.” She took a breath. “I used my knife to get out, and-”

Dean got the rest, he stared down at the dead people. “You fought them with that bad of a head wound?”

“Mmm,” was her only answer.

“What were they?”

Her eyes were now closed, she had settled her head but on Jody’s shoulder. “Nothing. Just humans…”

Dean heard approaching footsteps. He whirled around, pointing his gun. Sam entered with his hands held up mockingly. “Just me,” he assured his brother, “Perimeter’s clear. There’s no one else here.”

Dean gave a nod and settled.

“I’m taking her down to the car. We’ll wait for Cas there,” Jody said, pulling Claire closer into her arms as she stood.

Once they were gone, Dean bent down over one of the dead bodies. The dead guy couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. He had light skin and dark hair that was short but in one of those modern-day styles that you could tell cost a wad to get cut. Dean never got that. Why would you spend that much money on your hair when you could do it yourself? Or make your brother do it?

They definitely looked like some ‘preppy kids who had ditched their suburban house’. Dean looked at the girl for a moment. She had long brown hair, cut with layers, probably from another uppity barber, dressed in some outfit she must have thought looked cool.

Dean pulled out the guy’s wallet. “David Brooks,” He read off his ID. Then the green pieces of paper caught his eye. “Dude, there’s like over a hundred bucks in here!”

“Dean, don’t,” Sam warned. He was now crouched next to the girl, searching for anything helpful.

But Dean had already folded the cash into his back pocket. Sam stared at him with one of his bitchfaces. “What? It’s not like he needs it anymore.”

“Well, the girl’s got nothing on her,” Sam said as he stood from the girl’s dead corpse. “They look alike, siblings maybe?”

“Does it matter? What’s more important is that Claire said they were just human.”

“Seems like that to me.” Sam shrugged. “Maybe we were wrong, Dean? Maybe this was just a case and it has nothing to do with Michael.”

Dean stared at the people’s bodies. Michael was after vessels, Claire was a vessel. There was no way this was all a coincidence. No way. He turned to leave.

“Uh, forgetting something?” Dean turned back to Sam. “We gotta bury the bodies.”

Dean grumbled, “Right. ‘Course we do. Because digging graves is so much fun.” He lifted David Brooks’s arms while Sam got the legs.

***

_Six days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

“David Brooks,” Sam whispered.

Claire’s head wound had been healed and the bodies were buried. They made their way to the motel and got a couple more rooms. Claire took a shower and passed out before she could eat anything. Dean followed suit. One minute watching TV on the bed next to Claire, fork in his Chinese food container, the next knocked out with sleep.

Sam had pulled the mostly-full container from his brother’s hands, folded it back up, and put it away. Then, he returned to his laptop. It wasn’t that late, at least not for a Winchester. The clock had barely hit midnight.

Jody was sitting by his side on her own laptop, Jack and Cas were in one of the other rooms they got, it wasn’t like they needed four people to research two human kids anyway.

“Twenty-four years old. Son of Anna and Mark Brooks,” Sam continued, “The girl we buried was his sister, Eliza. Grew up and lives in Colorado. Apparently an avid churchgoer.”

“And murderer,” Jody added.

“And that. So what? One day he decided to kill two random people and kidnap a hunter? God, this doesn’t make any sense.” Sam rubbed his hands down his face. “If this is somehow tied to Michael… I just wish we could stop running through this stupid maze.”

“You’ll figure it out, Sam. You boys always do. How is Dean, anyway? He seems kinda… wired.”

Sam took a small glance towards his sleeping brother. “Yeah, the only thing he wants to do is find Michael. I think it’s the only thing he can think about, you know? But he just needs some time to get back to normal.”

“And you?”

“I’m fine, Jody.”

Jody stared into his eyes as if silently trying to tell him he was full of bullshit. But he was fine, maybe a bit stressed but when was he not stressed?

“Okay then,” she dismissed, “Claire and I will go over to the kids’ parents’ place before we go back to Sioux Falls. See what they know.”

“No, that’s the opposite direction. I’ll get someone else to do it. You should take Claire home.”

She nodded and then shut her laptop. After a moment of silence, she said, “Well I’m gonna head back to my room. It’s been a long day, Sam. Get some rest.”

***

For three good solid hours, Dean slept like the dead. It was the first time since Dean got “back” he actually slept restfully. Then that was interrupted by fleeting dreams of faces like Naomi’s and Dumah’s and Donatello’s.

Finally, he found himself back in that abandoned building, kicking down a door. But this time there was nothing but a pile of bodies. Claire, Jody, Sam, Cas, Jack, Mom, same as before, with burnt-out eyes. Except now blood covered their bodies as well. And when Dean looked down it saturated his hands, red blood dripping off of them onto the floor below.

Dean awoke with his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Then he exhaled slowly, not with fear, but with anger. It was totally fucking stupid. If Michael had killed them there wouldn’t even be any blood. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

If only his brain would stop. If only he couldn’t have nightmares every night. Not like he wasn’t used to that, but at least he used to get a nightmare-free night here and there, and at least those reminiscent dreams of the horrors he had seen and been through were on rotation. Now it was only Michael, all the time. He was sick of it.

The room was dark and empty except for a light coming from a computer screen in the corner. Dean got up, noticing that Claire’s bed was empty and the light was coming from her screen that was playing some show he’d never seen before.

Claire paused her show and looked up at Dean. “Did I wake you, old man?”

Dean rolled his eyes at her as he sat down.

“Seriously though, you snore like a pig. I literally thought there was a pig in here.”

“Very funny.”

She gave a weak smile and looked back at the screen.

“You okay?”

She was silent for a moment before answering, “I kinda screwed up, didn’t I? I just, I don’t know.” She shrugged. “She was hot and like a really good kisser.”

Dean gave a light laugh. “Yeah, all the worst ones are. Listen, Claire, you didn’t screw up. We’ve all been fooled by a pretty face.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“Even Cas?”

Dean stopped and gave a smile. “I don’t think that’s really Cas’s- wait, no. Him too. There was a reaper who killed him after they had sex.”

Claire’s eyes went wide. “You’re joking right?”

“Nope. Not at all.” Dean laughed again while she gave a small disgusted face. “Point is, we all make those mistakes. You just gotta keep going. Fighting the good fight, right?”

“I killed them, Dean. They were just people and I killed them.”

“They weren’t good people. And they kidnapped you, so I say they got what they had coming.”

She was silent again. Then she looked back at him. “How are you supposed to trust anyone when they turn out to be monsters or killers?”

“You trust your _family_. Jody and Alex. Me and Sam. Cas, even Patience. And Jack too. We’re here for you, always. We’re the ones you trust.”

Claire nodded. He could sense that she was over with whatever version of a heart to heart they just had. She pointed to the screen. “You wanna watch something with me?”

“Only if it’s Caddyshack.” He smiled.

***

“Saint Michael the Archangel, hear my prayer.” The woman kneeled in the darkness of the early morning, hands pressed together, head bowed in the peaceful prayer position. “Protect my children, David and Eliza, from the demons of this world and give them the strength to do what you have tasked them with and come home safely, untouched by the Hell that walks this Earth-”

There was a distant flap of wings. Anna looked up to find a woman standing there.

“You’re an angel?” She asked.

“I am Michael. You called to me.”

“But- you look different. You’re a woman…”

“I have many faces, Anna.”

She was silent.

“Well?”

She gulped, looking up to Michael, but avoiding his eyes. “My children. They went after one of your targets like you asked. But they- they haven’t come back.”

“Yes. Those demons I told you about, they killed them.”

“What?” Anna’s voice was soft, not entirely processing what Michael had said.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Michael added blankly.

Now that the initial shock had passed she yelled, “Well bring them back!”

Michael smiled, it was a cruel grin. “I am sorry Anna. Your children failed. Now they are in Heaven. With me. With _God_.”

Anna’s lip was trembling. “No! We- I- We gave everything for you, we did as you asked-”

“Don’t you see, Anna? That is your reward, a true servant of Heaven.”

“But my children!”

Michael sighed, settling his female vessel into a flat angry face. “I see this will be a problem for you. Perhaps you would no longer like to be in my service?”

Anna stared at the woman.

“Don’t worry, there are many more stupid little humans out there that I can twist to my will to get my jobs done.”

“What?”

“That’s right, Anna. You’re nothing and I can replace you. I have a feeling you’ll be less than helpful now that my mission has killed your children.” He shrugged. “And that God you pray to is dead. I’m the only God left here. But don’t worry. You’ll live out the rest of your existence in the _beautiful_ fields of Heaven,” he mocked, “And this, it will be painless.” Michael raised his hand, placing his thumb to finger, ready to snap. “Actually, it might not be. I wouldn’t know.”

His snap rang through the empty church while Anna burned from the inside out and fell to the floor eyeless. Michael sighed. He didn’t like the woman, but she had her uses, now he’d have to find some other dumb drooling human to take her place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I did not have Jody enough in this chapter and the last one, but there wasn't really much she could do and I couldn't just make her stay in Sioux Falls while they looked for Claire. She should be back, but it's not gonna be for a long time. Poor Jody, I love her but didn't do her justice.


	12. Skin and Bones

_Six days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

Jack rolled up yesterday’s t-shirt and threw it into his duffle. There was a smile brimming his face as he stuffed his hand into his jean pocket, feeling the plastic-baggy-covered spell inside. For the first time since becoming human Jack had a peaceful sleep. No nightmares, no tossing and turning, and no lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to fall to sleep. Just blissful sleep. More than that, for the first time since becoming human, Jack felt calm.

It was strange, Jack never knew what his grace felt like. Only once it was gone did he register the calmness it brought through his veins. Not like when he had his grace nothing ever went amiss, but without his grace, there was something that made him feel off-kilter. Now that was gone, now he felt like himself.

Jody and Claire had left early that morning, trading breakfast for getting something to eat on the road. Jack felt good about finding Claire. He had helped her. It didn’t matter that Sam, Dean, and Jody had gotten to the building before him and Cas could get there, and it didn’t matter that Claire had already taken down her own kidnappers. The only thing Jack cared about was that he had been helpful. Jack threw the duffle over his shoulder and walked towards the door.

Sam and Dean had found the bodies of the two dead people who had brought Claire into town in the Brooks sibling’s hideout. Which meant there wasn’t much they could do now. Sam sent Lizzie and Ryan, two Apocalypse World hunters that were already in Colorado, to check out the Brooks family and see if they knew anything about their murdering children. Meanwhile, the group decided to head back to the Bunker.

Jack left his motel room and entered the brightly lit summer morning to meet with his family who were already outside. Then he saw her. His blood went cold and that peacefulness that had settled in his veins fled like a bird finally freed from its cage.

Judging by the fact that Sam, Dean, and Cas all had angel blades in their hands, he assumed she had already made introductions. And no one looked pleased to see her. As Jack came closer Cas put out his arm as if protecting him from the now well-acquainted demon.

She smiled. “Well if it isn’t Jack Kline. Or is it Winchester? Maybe we should hyphen it, Winchester-Kline?”

“What the hell are you doing here, Kris? I sent you back to Hell,” Sam barked at her.

“Sure did. But it’s pretty easy to climb back out of the place when everyone's too busy slitting each others’ throats and you’re a demon no one could give two shits about.”

“What do you want?” Dean asked.

Kris looked to Dean, her face went hard. “To help. You boys have a pretty hack researching team, though I could lend a hand.” There was no sign of humor in her voice.

She pulled out a yellow folder from inside of her leather jacket. She tossed it across “no man’s land” between her spot in the center of the road and the Winchesters standing at the back of the Impala. It landed at Dean’s feet, he bent to pick it up.

He looked up at her and raised his eyebrows. “Open it,” she said in a condescending tone.

Dean sighed and opened the envelope. There were photographs inside. Jack leaned over to try to see, but the sun made a glare on the glossy picture.

“This is Chloe Stuhr,” Dean registered, leaning over to let Sam see.

“Exactly. Finally found her, surveillance and all that.”

The pictures got passed to Cas and Jack looked over his shoulder at them. They definitely looked like the woman named Chloe Stuhr, but she looked unharmed. In one photo she was walking down a street, another showed her walking out of a building, but none showed her being held hostage. None of them showed her in any threatening situation. 

As if reading Jack’s mind, Kris started talking again. “Don’t know why she’s just walking around, but she kept going in and out of that building.” She unhelpfully pointed at the pictures Cas was holding, and Jack did notice that there were several photos of the same building. “Again, don’t know why, but I’ll leave that up to you boys. I see you already got your muscle car ready, just set the GPS to Janesville, Wisconsin.”

“Why are you helping us?” Dean asked.

This time she smiled, but it was sour, not the friendly playful smile she had flashed Jack the day before. “Revenge is a powerful motivator.” She stopped for a breath, her eyes wandering to each of them. “You guys should know that better than anyone.”

“Just because he killed your sick little demon ‘family’?”

She gave one snort of a laugh. Her dark eyes were coldly staring at Dean. “Tell me, Dean, what would you do to Michael if he murdered your family?”

Dean just stopped. Any emotion drained from his face. Jack couldn’t even see him breathing.

“Why get us to do it? You were there getting surveillance or whatever. Why don’t you find out what Chloe’s up to by yourself?” Sam asked.

“You’re joking, right? You’re the Winchesters! You’ve killed Azazael, Abaddon, Lucifer! Like I’m gonna go in there myself when you boys make all things evil wet themselves. I do gotta bounce, but let me know what you boys find.” She turned to leave, but stopped a moment, looking back at the group. “I’m surprised at you, Dean.”

“Excuse me?”

She shrugged. “Possessed for that long only to walk away like nothing happened… woulda thought you’d be nothing but skin and bones.”

Jack blinked, then she was gone.

“‘Skin and bones’?” Dean repeated.

Cas stowed his blade. “Last time we met, Kris she said that you wouldn’t be the same if we got you back, that Michael would rip you apart and leave you as a shell.”

“But she was obviously wrong,” Sam noted.

“Obviously,” Dean answered.

A moment later all their things were packed in the Impala’s trunk and they piled into the car, Cas and Jack in the back, Dean and Sam in their signature places in the front. Cas was still holding Kris’s photographs.

“Well, Wisconsin or home? Because they’re entirely different ways,” Sam asked.

The Impala passed the crappy car Sam had “borrowed” to get to Norfolk, now left abandoned in the motel’s parking lot.

“You know we can’t trust her. I mean, she’s a demon. When has anything good ever come from trusting a demon?” Dean said, turning the Impala out of the motel onto the town road.

“What about Crowley, wasn’t he your friend?” Jack questioned, looking out the window.

Dean scoffed. “‘Friend’ might be pushing it.”

“Jack is right though, he did help us from time to time,” Cas pointed out.

“Yeah, but that was Crowley! That demon ain’t no Crowley. And how does she know what she knows anyway? Something’s not right about this.”

The car was silent for a moment, no one seemed to disagree with Dean’s perspective except Jack. He sat there watching the tiny town pass by as they moved towards the interstate.

“Well these pictures look pretty real,” Sam finally said.

“Yeah, but who knows when they were taken?”

“I don’t know, Dean. But if this really is Chloe, shouldn’t we check it out? She might turn out like Greg did.”

“She looks like she’s doing fine in those pictures.”

“But who knows? Weren’t you the one who wanted to follow Michael’s trail no matter what?”

“Not if it comes from some stupid ass demon.” But Dean was already driving onto the highway that headed east to Wisconsin. “I’m betting right now that this is all a trap. And you’re gonna give me twenty dollars if it is.” He pointed to Sam sharply.

Sam rolled his eyes.

Jack rested his chin on his hand, looking out the window. “Maybe she actually wants to help us,” he said quietly under his breath.

Dean still caught it. “Definitely not.”

Jack sighed at Dean’s continuous cynicism.

***

Four hours into the drive, they stopped at a gas station. Dean and Jack headed inside the tiny convenience store while Sam filled up the tank.

“Hey, Cas?” Sam looked up at the angel who got out of the car, stretching. He vaguely wondered if angel’s limbs even got stiff. They had practically lived with one for years and yet there were still such simple things they didn’t know about the species. “Why do you think Dean isn’t, ‘skin and bones’? Don’t get me wrong,” He added hastily, “I’m glad he’s good. I mean, I think he’s a little jumbled, but he’s definitely not a drooling mess. But you said the only way for that to happen is if the Archangel puts them back together, which seems unlikely for Michael, or for them to die…”

Cas didn’t answer Sam right away. Instead, he walked closer to him, standing at the corner of the car, his fingertips resting on her shiny exterior. “Angel possession, angels in general, aren’t an exact science, Sam. We still don’t know what stabbed Dean, that might have something to do with it. Or several other factors. Michael’s gone and Dean’s okay, that’s what really matters.”

Sam nodded, pulling the gasoline nozzle out of the Impala’s gas tank. Cas had a point. Despite that, Sam liked to have all the information in front of him, and currently, there were so many holes that it was impossible to get the whole picture. He had a faraway feeling that this specific hole was somehow an important one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm aware skin and bones usually means to be thin, but I am using it in the sense of being ill and falling-apart, hope that makes sense.  
> Also, can we please hyphen Jack's name from now on? :P


	13. Michael's Minions

_Six days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

“Great, another abandoned building. How is it that there’s always another one of those around?” Dean said as he pulled the Impala passed an old white building that looked like it used to be a tiny hotel.

Lucky for them, Sam had traced the reoccurring building in the photographs, which was helpful since the demon neglected to tell them exactly where in the city Chloe was holding up.

Dean pulled the car into an alleyway a couple of streets down.

“There’s no way this isn’t a trap,” Dean said for the hundredth time.

“Yeah, we know,” Sam answered as he opened the Impala’s door and got out.

Dean flipped the keys into his pocket and got out of the car as well. He watched Jack, who was practically giddy with excitement, vacate his seat in the back. Dean pensively rubbed his finger with his thumb. He definitely did not trust Kris. Demons were never quite as helpful as she was being, there was something more to her motivation. Revenge? Maybe. But underneath it all, she wanted something else. Dean had rolled it through his head over and over on the nearly seven-hour drive, but he had little to go on to find her true motivation.

He had a deep feeling in his stomach that Kris knew exactly what was going on with Chloe Stuhr in that abandoned building, and she was just throwing them to the wolves first. She had basically said as much, but the fact that they were following it blindly made Dean wary.

Dean pulled his gun out of the trunk as the rest of the band picked up their weapons. Jack reached down and picked up one of the spare guns earning an odd look from Dean.

“Jack’s been practicing his shooting,” Sam explained and gave Dean a silent look that told him there was no need to worry about the young Nephilim carrying a firearm.

Dean shrugged and handed Jack some angel-killing bullets. “Then the best of the best,” Dean said. Although inside, Dean was hoping “practicing his shooting” meant that none of them would accidentally end up with a bullet in their back.

Jack gave Dean a broad smile and Dean followed his lead in filling his gun with the angel-killing bullets. The bullets were always on short supply, but Dean figured that they might run into some angels if it truly was Chloe in the building. It would be much easier to shoot them instead of using the traditional angel blades. Sam, however, kept regular bullets in case they were more appropriate. They all took angel blades as back-ups.

The trunk slammed shut. “Let’s do this thing,” Dean announced as he spun his angel blade on his finger before securing it in his belt.

The group took off towards the white, broken-down building. Upon reaching it, they stopped and looked to Cas.

“I don’t sense any angelic presence,” he reported as he squinted at the building above.

“Great,” Dean said, “Guess we’ll just have to search the entire four-story building.” He sighed.

“Split up?” Sam suggested, “Two of us go through the back, the others through the front?”

“Sounds good. Cas?” Dean looked at the angel. “Wanna take the front with me?”

Cas gave one slight nod.

“Then Jack and I got the back. We’ll search the first floor and meet up, then go from there,” Sam reported.

“Alright there, captain.” Dean teased as he and Cas took off towards the front of the building. 

The door was secured with a heavy-duty lock and took Dean a while to break into while Cas watched out for people coming or watching. Thankfully, they were on an old street that was mostly abandoned and only one group of people passed their way, not even giving them a glance. When Dean finally got the lock pins set they slipped inside.

The first thing Dean noticed was the dust that seemed to saturate the air and the funky smell that probably indicated there was enough mold in there to kill you. Dean shrugged and turned on his flashlight. They began looking around.

Many of the walls had been torn down, or mostly torn down, so there were fewer rooms to search through than Dean thought. Almost all the windows were boarded shut and Dean kicked some debris as he headed to the main elevator.

Sam and Jack were standing there.

“Clear,” Sam announced as if he was a soldier or cop, “Up to the next floors. We’ll take the second floor, you guys can go up to the third.” Sam didn’t wait for their answers, he pushed open the stairwell door.

The second and third floors had more of the same nothingness, and when all four of them searched the fourth floor they found it entirely empty.

“So maybe not a trap,” Dean admitted once they grouped back together in the middle of the fourth floor, “There’s just absolutely nothing here.” His voice echoed through the broken-down rooms.

“I wonder why Chloe Stuhr kept coming in here then,” Sam thought out loud.

“Sam!”

Dean looked over to Jack who had yelled and then quickly back to Sam who grunted as a woman sliced his arm with an angel blade.

Dean didn’t have much time to think, as a man was suddenly next to him, swinging at him with an angel blade.

Dean ducked as the blade went flying over his head. He aimed his gun and pulled the trigger at his attacker’s heart. The man didn’t even react. Instead, he lunged with his blade. Dean jumped back and veered out of the way before the blade could hit home.

He turned back to his attacker, his gun exchanged for his own blade.

“Nothing’s working!” He heard Sam yell from somewhere across the room.

Then the man came at Dean, pinning him against one of the remaining walls in the room. Dean’s angel blade went straight through him; right through his ribs and up at his heart. He still didn’t react. His face was blank with empty eyes.

The man’s blade pressed up against Dean’s neck. Dean’s hand was stuck between them on the hilt of his own useless blade, still buried in the man’s torso. His other hand was holding back the man from slitting his throat open.

His eyes darted behind the super-man who was trying to kill him. He looked at Sam, also pinned against a wall. Blood was leaking from the slice on his arm. The woman who he was fighting had her blade only a hair away from slipping into Sam’s gut. 

In Dean’s other line of vision, Jack had been tossed to the floor, weaponless and scrambling. A woman stood over him, ready to bring down another blow. Dean noticed the short, straight black hair. Chloe Stuhr. _God dammit!_

Dean didn’t have time to search for Cas in the room. His own attacker stepped back from him. Dean’s hand slipped from his angel blade plunged in the man’s chest. And then all he saw was a fist colliding with his face.

He was on the ground. His vision was black around the edges. He heard a cry of pain, unmistakably his brother’s. Dean blinked hard, trying to refocus his sight. And there, across the room, the woman that Sam had been fighting had finally got her angel blade into Sam’s abdomen.

Dean’s attacker was standing over him. His fist curled, ready for one last punch. Dean brought his head closer to his chest in protection. He mumbled in desperate stupidity, “Wait, stop.”

Dean felt something snap in his chest. Not his ribs or sternum. Not something in his heart or lungs. Something deeper down cracked. It felt like all the air had been sucked straight out of his lungs.

He blinked again. His vision now free from the blackness that threatened to take over. He breathed in, but it felt odd. It felt like someone had kicked him right in the middle of his chest. And now there was a giant bruise forming and making every breath accompanied by a tang of pain.

But to his surprise, the man, who still had the hilt of Dean’s blade protruding from his chest, was staring at him. He had a look of confusion on his face, the first expression Dean had seen there. Dean stared at him warily, but he did not move. He looked over, but all the others who had ambushed them were gone. Jack was getting up, now with an angel blade in hand. Cas was crouched next to Sam.

Dean looked back up at the man, eyeing him suspiciously as he pulled himself up off the ground. His eyes followed Dean, but he did not move. Dean coughed, it hurt his chest slightly and he rubbed it with his hand.

“Sam?” He asked, his voice hoarse.

Sam was getting up off the ground, now newly healed. “Yeah?”

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. What in the hell just happened?” Dean didn’t move his eyes from looking at the last attacker before him.

Sam, Cas, and Jack came closer, they all seemed uninjured now. Dean raised his hand before the man in front of him. He waved it in front of his eyes, but there was no reaction. Dean furrowed his brow and clapped his hands in front of the man’s face. He didn’t even blink, his arms fell unused at his sides. He stared off into the distance with a blank expression.

Cas slowly pulled the blade out of the man’s hand and Sam very carefully secured the angel cuffs on his wrists, pulling his arms behind him.

Dean rubbed his chest and looked around the room. There was still a strange pain in it. He must have been hit there, but he couldn’t remember. The room looked the same as before. Empty.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jack asked.

“I have no idea,” Cas replied. His head was tilted to the side as he stared at the man’s face, as if it was somehow going to reveal something.

“Where’d the other ones go?” Dean asked softly.

“They just disappeared,” Sam answered.

“Maybe Michael called them back?” Cas suggested.

“So we’re thinking they worked for Michael?”

“Well the one attacking Jack was Chloe, so I think it’s a safe assumption,” Dean said. He looked to Jack who was staring at the strange being they had obtained in front of them, lost in thought.

“You okay, Jack?”

“Yeah. What- what are they?” The young Nephilm asked.

“Cas?”

“I’ve never felt, or seen, anything like them.”

Dean gave his brother an annoyed look. Sam’s mouth went thin.

“Awesome,” Dean said sarcastically, “Another Goddamn mystery on our hands.”

***

Dean pulled the Impala out to the backstreet behind the old hotel and they stuffed the creature that Dean was now calling a “Michael Minion” into the back of the trunk. The minion's eyes still stared out blankly when they shut the trunk lid on him.

As they headed down Route 20 Sam watched his brother smile. “Well, you owe me twenty dollars.”

“Ha. Fat chance. I never agreed to your stupid bet.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a trap. Maybe Kris didn’t know they would attack us like that.” Sam looked over his shoulder at Jack who had spoken. He was staring out into the dusk enclosed behind the window. Cas was sitting next to him, straight up, his eyes closed. He seemed to not be paying attention to the conversation.

“No. She was ‘surveying’ Chloe or whatever. And there was something she was hiding back there. She knew. She set us up. And now we’re gonna find her and put a blade through her heart,” Dean grunted, any resemblance of a joking smile long gone.

“So what? You think Michael has demons working for him?” Sam looked at his brother with disbelief. There was no way self-righteous Michael would get his brother’s creations to work for him. He wouldn’t want to.

“I don’t know. He apparently has humans working for him. Or maybe Kris has her own agenda and us dead or captured fit into that. I don’t know. The point is, we can’t trust her.”

“I think we all get that, Dean. Finding her will be a different story though. Which reminds me.” Sam pulled out his phone and dialed Lizzie’s number. Dean looked at him curiously for a moment but then turned back to the road.

The call rang twice before she picked up. “Hey, Sam.”

“Hey, Lizzie. You guys got anything?”

“Unfortunately, ya. One dead Anna Brooks. Burned from the inside out.”

“Angel smiting?”

“That’s what it’s looking like.”

“What about the father?”

“We talked to him. But he’s in shock, says he’s got no clue what happened to his wife or children. Says they’ve been acting strange for a month or so now and that his wife may have mentioned something about Michael, but he wasn’t too sure. It’s not that much to go on.”

“I didn’t really think it would be, but thanks. Text me if you find out anything else.” Sam hung up and then looked to his brother. “Mrs. Brooks is dead, eyes burned out.”

“Well Michael’s getting busy,” his brother said, “Cleaning up his messes.”

“Yeah, you could say that. What’re you doing, Cas?”

The angel’s eyes snapped open. “I can feel it.”

“Feel what exactly?” Dean asked with caution.

“The being in the trunk. Even now I can feel its power.”

“Like he’s gonna ‘break-out’ power?”

“No. It’s radiating off him. It feels like- well, it almost feels like Heaven. Some distorted part of it.”

“Heaven?” Dean gave a long heavy sigh.

“Distorted? Like what? Like a Grigori?” Sam proposed.

“No. This is different," Cas explained, "I’ve never felt this before.”

“You think it’s- new?” Dean said hesitantly, “Like Michael unearthed some unknown abomination?”

“Maybe he made them,” Sam said slowly, not liking the feeling carving out a space inside him.

“No,” Cas firmly answered, “Michael isn’t powerful enough. Not to create beings like these.”

“So back to square one. Maybe the Men of Letters have something on whatever he is,” Dean hopefully suggested. His hand was on his sternum, slowly rubbing it.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Sam asked.

“Doing what?”

“You’re rubbing your chest. You good?”

Dean removed his hand from his chest, placing it back on the steering wheel. “I’m fine. I think he just hit me. Super-strength and everything.”

“Dean, if you’re hurt I can heal you,” Cas said from the back seat.

“I’m good. It’ll stop hurting in a couple of hours.”

Sam shrugged as the Impala accelerated down the road.


	14. Collaspsing Attempts

_Seven days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

“Rowena? What are you doing here?” Sam asked as the Bunker door shut with a creak behind him.

“What are you doing awake?” Dean looked down at his watch. “It’s like four in the morning.”

Cas and Jack went around the brothers, guiding Michael's creature, who now had a bag over his head. Rowena looked up at the boys from the books that were spread out in front of her. Sam and Dean made their way down the stairs to the library’s table.

“Research. Obviously. And your guest beds are wildly uncomfortable, there’s no way I was sleeping there.”

The witch didn’t look tired at all, bright and awake as she always did.

“You find anythin’?” Dean asked as he lightly drummed his knuckles on the library table.

Rowena looked under her eyelids at him. “I’ve been looking into the magic in your wound for one day. No, I have not found anything.”

Dean pushed his eyebrows up in pseudo shock. “Well, then. Guess we should get back to our monster.”

Sam watched his brother walk down the hall towards the dungeon. He turned back to Rowena, who was still reading and ignoring Sam’s presence. He twisted his head to read one of the books Rowena had open. “ _Popular Magic in the 17th and 18th Centuries_. Interesting read?”

She looked up at him, giving him a similar glare that she had given Dean, but he saw the spark of amusement in her eyes.

“I woulda thought your own books would be more helpful to find out what magic was used to hurt Michael. Why do you need ours? How’d you even get in?”

“Your mother let me in.” She gave a pompous smile. “And, yes, my resources will help me find out what type of magic it was, but I wanted to reference it with these. As much as I hate to admit it, you boys have an extensive collection of magical references in your library. Of course, not as much as my own, but still helpful.”

“Why are you helping us, Rowena?”

She looked up at him innocently. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, for one thing, there’s nothing in it for you-”

“Sam! Why’re you dragging ass? Let’s go!” Dean yelled from down the hall, loud enough that if there were any other hunters sleeping in the Bunker they were probably awake now.

“I’m just saying, Rowena, if we find that something happens to be missing-”

“I understand, Samuel. I’ll make sure to return all the little books I borrow,” she said mockingly.

Sam rolled his eyes and turned to follow his brother towards the dungeon.

Inside the dark dungeon, Dean was spinning an angel blade. Cas and Jack were standing off to the sides with the creature secured in the chair and the bag removed from his head. His eyes stared out in a catatonic state.

“Who are you?” Dean questioned, walking back and forth in front of the man as if it was intimidating. “You work for Michael?”

The man continued to stare blankly at some space behind Sam. Dean pushed the blade against the man’s throat. “I asked you a question!”

“You really think that’s gonna work? The blades don’t even hurt them.” Sam said plainly. 

Dean was still leaning over the man, the blade to his throat. “How are we supposed to interrogate him then? God, he doesn’t react to anything.” Dean pulled back and waved his hand in front of the man’s eyes. “Hey, anyone home?” The creature continued to stare out, unblinking. “Great.”

“Cas?” Sam asked.

“I can try to search his mind. But I cannot predict the outcome.”

“At least we can shoot him with everything we got.” Dean patted Cas on the shoulder and he turned to the door of the dungeon.

“I will need some time,” Cas announced, observing the being tied down before him.

“Okay,” Sam stated, “We got other research to do anyway.”

Sam, Dean, and Jack left the storage room attached to the dungeon, shutting the door behind them. As they were walking down the hall, Mary rounded the corner. “Hey, I thought I heard you guys come in.”

Mary looked disheveled, her hair unbrushed and fuzzy, like she had just gotten up. Sam thought it was more likely that Mary had heard Dean yelling through the halls rather than just “hearing them come in”, but decided not to mention it.

She smiled at Dean. “How are you?”

Dean huffed impatiently. “I’m fine, Mom,” he answered in reminiscence of an annoyed teenager.

They continued out of the hall and into the Crow’s Nest. Rowena was now gone. Sam wondered if she had decided to turn in and get her “beauty rest” or if she had just left to find another book.

“What about you, Jack?” Mary asked.

Sam turned back to Jack. He had been quiet since they left Janesville as if he was upset about something, or perhaps just pensive. Sam supposed it could be the news of Michael’s minions that upset him, just another Michael problem to pile onto the list.

Jack shrugged. “I’m good.”

“Good.” Mary smiled. She turned to Sam. “And you brought home a what?”

“That’s what we need help finding out,” Sam remarked.

***

Dean plopped an old, giant book in front of Sam’s face.

“Summoning for your average demon,” he announced.

“Seriously? We’ve been trying to figure out what attacked us in Wisconsin and you’re looking up how to summon Kris? A little low on priorities, Dean.”

“Maybe Kris knows what attacked us. I mean she did send us into that trap, like I told you she would, by the way.”

Sam sighed. “Fine, you do your demon summoning. We’ll be sitting here reading all these books on angelic-like beings.”

“Sounds good.” Dean was already entering one of the Bunker’s halls.

“Can I help him?” Jack asked, looking up from the leather-bound, ancient book laid in front of him.

“Yeah, sure.”

Jack scampered off after Dean. Sam looked down at the Latin-written book, hoping Cas, who still hadn’t left the dungeon, was having more luck than they were.

***

Dean finished painting the devil’s trap on the floor of one of the storerooms in the back of the Bunker. “You got all the ingredients?”

Jack placed some glass bottles on the table in the room. “Yes.”

“Good. Now let’s summon ourselves a demon.”

Jack looked down at the bottled ingredients as Dean pulled out a bronze bowl. “You really think Kris betrayed us?”

“Jack, that’s what demons do. They only ever want to help themselves. They twist facts around to seem like they’re helping you, but they’re only fulfilling whatever it is they want. Seriously, they are all exactly the same.”

Jack nodded. He could still feel the plastic-wrapped spell in his pocket. It had begun to feel heavy, like weight pulling him down. Kris had helped him. Couldn’t she have just made a mistake with Chloe? There was nothing wrong with her spell. At least, it didn’t seem like there was.

Dean finished mixing the ingredients and placed the bowl in the middle of the devil’s trap. He stepped out, whispered the spell under his breath, and then threw the match into the bowl. Fire sparked up. Jack and Dean looked around, but no one showed up and nothing happened.

Jack’s eyes fixed on the inside of the devil’s trap. Dean leaned up against the wall and crossed his arms, watching the clock tirelessly.

They waited there for what Jack felt like was hours, and finally, Dean said, “Well that was a bust.” They threw the burnt contents of the summoning bowl into the trash and headed back to the library. Mary was now gone, replaced by Cas who was talking about what Jack assumed to be the minion in the dungeon.

“How’d your summoning go?” Sam asked when they entered.

“Kris was a no show, so…” Dean’s hand settled on his chest, fingers bouncing up and down. “You got something, Cas?”

Cas sighed. “The creature is- Well, he seems to have some sort of distorted human soul.”

“Like a demon?” Sam asked.

“Almost, but it’s tied with grace, like some sort of-”

“Demon-angel?” Dean suggested.

Cas took little notice of him and continued, “But it’s powerful. There is no way Michael could’ve created something like that.”

“Not even with his true vessel?” Sam wondered, “Not even since he’s a Michael from another world?”

“No. No Archangel would be powerful enough to create this.”

“Dean?” Sam asked with concern, knitting his eyebrows together as he looked over to his brother. The eldest Winchester had fallen forward, grasping at the table in front of him.

Jack stood in place, watching as Dean swayed slightly on his feet, gripping the table, and breathing heavily. Cas was quickly at his side. “There’s something wrong with you,” Cas said softly.

“Just got dizzy for a sec.” Dean tried to brush it off, but it was unconvincing considering he was still rocking on his feet like a sailor off a boat.

Cas pulled the chair at the table around Dean and forcefully pushed him into it. Dean only reacted by forcing his eyes shut and screwing up his face in pain. Jack stood there watching as if he was nothing but a cement block while Cas roughly laid his first two fingers on Dean’s forehead.

***

According to Cas, there was something _deeply_ wrong with Dean. Whatever that meant. Dean had fought Sam as he had tried to help him down the hall to his room. After stumbling on his own, however, Dean finally let Sam help him walk straight.

Sam, Mary, and Jack stood in the corner of Dean’s room while Dean lay on his bed motionless, eyes closed. Cas stood over him, hand on his forehead, equally unmoving.

The time slipped by as they stood there. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Twenty-five minutes.

Sam looked down at his watch again. Thirty-seven minutes of Cas trying to heal Dean. Things weren’t looking good. Sam ran his hand through his hair. Here it was, the other shoe. This is what happened when someone was possessed by the most powerful Archangel for months. Or maybe this is what happened when someone was stabbed by an unknown powerful weapon. This was what happened when you were a Winchester and you had been ripped apart and put back together more times than the apocalypse had almost happened.

Dean grunted. Cas pulled his hand off his head, and their eyes opened simultaneously. Mary stood to full attention. Jack stopped playing with a rubber band he had found, which he had been twisting between his fingers for the last hour.

“What was that?” Dean asked.

Cas looked back at Sam, his face was a mirror of pure worry. Sam felt his stomach drop to his feet.

“Cas?!” Dean sat up.

“How do you feel, Dean?”

“Fine. What’d you do?”

“There’s a piece of Michael’s grace inside you,” he said while looking straight into Dean’s eyes, as if he was nothing but a messenger, not a companion. As if saying it detached would make it better.

“Like when Gadreel possessed me?” Sam tried to mellow the growing tension of the room.

“No. This is significantly larger, and deep. I think Michael might have left it there on purpose.”

“You’re saying there’s a piece of Michael _inside_ me?” Dean looked like he was either about to throw something or puke.

“Yes.”

“Well get it out!”

“It’s not that easy, Dean.”

“Didn’t- didn’t you say there was something you did to get Gadreel’s grace out of you?” Dean was looking at Sam, pure horror in his eyes, something Sam had only seen there a few times in their entire lives.

“That almost killed Sam. It would certainly kill you.”

“I don’t care, I want it out!”

“Dean, calm down,” Sam said lightly.

“‘Calm down’? How ‘bout you shut up?”

Sam settled his face with displeasure at his brother.

Dean stood up. He no longer wobbled on his feet. Cas truly must have done something to “heal” him. 

“Dean, listen, this is important,” Cas said, “What did you do?”

“Excuse me?”

“Back in Janesville, before the creatures disappeared, what did you _do_?”

“I don’t know, some bitch was trying to kill me, I defended myself.”

“And-”

“And, what, Cas?! Everything was going to shit and then they were just gone…” Dean furrowed his brow. When he spoke again it was slower, less panicked. “I asked them to stop. Not seriously, but a reflex. You think they listened to me?”

“I think you were desperate and we were losing and you tapped into what Michael left behind. But you doing so upset the grace inside you, causing a negative reaction. I think I fixed that part though, at least for now.”

“But the grace is still inside me?”

“Yes.”

“What does it do?” Jack spoke up. Sam had forgotten he was there. He had forgotten anyone was there but him, Dean, and Cas. Jack looked pale, worried, and small in the corner.

Cas’s mouth went thin.

“What does it do, Cas?” Dean repeated, irritated.

“I think Michael- I think he left it behind so he could, um-” Cas swallowed and looked away from Dean as if that could spare him from his anger. “So he could repossess you without getting permission.”

“That’s possible?” Sam asked as Dean yelled a string of vile profanity.

“I once heard of it, but it was theoretical. I’ve never actually seen it done.”

“You’re saying Michael can repossess me whenever he wants?” Dean said slowly.

“He’d have to be in pretty close proximity to you, but yes.”

“Then we have to get it out.”

“Dean, we do not know how.”

Dean closed his eyes and hung his head. Sam knew he was trying everything to keep himself from exploding.

“It can’t do anything else right?” Mary asked from the corner.

Cas looked up at her with sorrowful eyes. “I really don’t know.”

“He can’t like, spy on us? Can he?” Jack questioned.

“No. If he can see, or hear, through Dean there’s no way it would clear, there isn’t enough grace for that.”

“You’re sure?” Sam added.

“That’s the one thing I am certain of.”

Dean rubbed his hand across his mouth. Sam wanted to tell him they would figure it out, that it would be okay, but it seemed like a moot point.

“You boys are loud enough to wake up the whole country. I can’t focus on spellwork when all I can hear is your screaming.” Rowena was standing in the doorway, some old book wrapped in her arms.

“Rowena!” Dean’s eyes lit up. “You fixed the wound. You can get Michael’s grace out.”

“Out of where?”

Dean huffed, and sat down, deflated, on the edge of the bed.

“Michael left grace inside of Dean. We can’t figure out how to get it out,” Sam informed the witch.

She rolled her eyes. “Am I ever going to stop being your fail-safe for everything?” She crossed the room, slamming whatever book was in her hands into Sam’s chest so he would take it. She put her hand on Dean’s head. It took her a couple of minutes, but not nearly as long as Cas. Then she pulled her hand away. “It’s very deep inside you, twisted in with your soul. It does not come out. Well not with you alive, that is.”

Dean’s face fell, he was about to speak, but Rowena cut him off.

“It’s a connection between you and the angel, yes?” She asked rhetorically. “I might be able to prevent the connection, but… it would take time and research to perfect a spell like that. Perhaps more time then you have if that angel comes after you again. And if you want me to do that and look for your weapon. Well, I’d need a dozen interns with great magical aptitude, which, as far as I know, you do not possess.”

“Can you just try what you can, Rowena?” Sam asked hopelessly.

Rowena rolled her eyes. Turning on her heel, she muttered something about how she always had to do everything around here and sauntered out of the room.

***

Jack looked down at the old piece of paper wrapped in plastic. It seemed so stupid now. A knock reverberated of his bedroom door. Jack quickly stuffed the spell under his pillow. “Yeah?”

Cas opened it. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine. Isn’t Dean the one we should be worrying about?”

“Dean will be okay. As long as he stays away from Michael.” Cas settled in the doorway.

Jack bit down hard. Cas was brushing this off like everything was normal and fine. “How’s he supposed to do that? We don’t know where Michael is, when he’ll show up. He could just come and take Dean again!”

“We won’t let that happen, Jack. We’re gonna stop Michael.”

Jack scoffed. He knew Michael, if he wanted Dean back, he’d take him and there would be nothing anyone could do. Least of all him, who had no power anymore.

“I’m worried too, Jack, but-” Cas took a step forward.

“You don’t seem that worried,” Jack blurted out.

Cas’s face twisted in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but Jack turned away from his “father”.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just want Dean- I just want everyone to be okay.”

“And we will be, Jack. We will figure this out.”

Jack gave a feeble nod. After a moment he said, “Do you think Kris betrayed us? That she didn’t just make a mistake?”

“Yes, Jack. Trust us, we’ve known a lot more demons than you. Whatever she wanted, or wants, from us it’s nothing for our own good.”

“You’ve never known one truly helpful demon?”

“Demons are driven by ambition, greed, corruption. They don’t just help people for the sake of it.”

“That isn’t an answer to my question.”

Cas sighed. “The demons who have helped us, Jack, who have been our allies, or _friends_ , were not always so. They too had that want for anything for themselves or their cause.”

Jack nodded again, looking down at his hands.

“I think Sam’s going to make lunch if you want something.” Cas smiled as he turned to leave Jack’s room.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a moment.”

Cas clicked his door shut and Jack waited for the footstep to dissipate before pulling out Kris’s spell again. He gritted his teeth and pulled it out of its covering. Walking over to the trash can, he pulled his lighter off his desk.

He flicked the flame alive and held it close to the paper. Then moved it away, looking at the Enochian words. _I can help you get your powers back_ , Kris’s words rang in his mind. Powers, grace, Nephilim. If only he still had his strength, none of them would be in this mess right now. He sighed, clicking the lighter shut. Instead, he hid the spell under his side table, placing it back in its baggy and taping it underneath.

***

“Dean?” Sam asked from outside his brother’s bedroom door.

“You can come in,” Dean said from the inside.

Sam opened the door to find Dean ripping down his wall of Michael evidence.

“Don’t we still need all that stuff?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to keep staring at it.” Dean threw the wadded up map into his trash bin, it teetered with the force of the paper hitting its flimsy sides, but caught itself on its center.

“You okay?”

“What do you think, Sam?” Dean sneered.

“We’re gonna get Michael, Dean.” Dean didn’t answer. Sam unpicked Rosa’s picture from the wall. “We just need to prioritize.”

“Prioritize?”

“Yeah, go after what is the most concerning, work from there.”

“Okay, then we gotta find the weapon.”

“Uh, maybe we should find Rosa first. She’s been missing for weeks.” Sam turned her picture to Dean. “And I promised her sister I’d find her,” Sam added guiltily.

“Well, if we get the weapon we can make Michael tell us where she is.”

“Or we can get Rosa to tell us what he’s been up to.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“She’s a person, Dean.”

“Yeah, which means Michael probably killed her a long time ago!” Dean snapped.

Sam answered back calmly, “If he wanted her dead he wouldn’t have abducted her.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m just saying, Rowena is working on what the weapon is-”

“Yeah, but now she’s gotta help us figure out how to stop Michael from making me his muppet again too.”

Sam ignored his brother’s cynicism. “In the meantime, we just gotta keep grinding. You with me?” Sam hit his brother’s shoulder.

“Sure,” he replied unenthusiastically.

Sam sighed. Feeling the collapsing attempt at a pep talk, he diverted the topic, “I’m gonna make lunch, you want something or not?”

Dean threw the last of the paraphernalia into his trash can. “I’ll take a grilled cheese.”

“Okay.” Sam finished, exasperated as he pulled the door shut noisily.

***

“Michael?” Kris studied the back of a woman dressed in sleek business clothes. They were standing in a forest somewhere in Southern Ontario, giant green pines mixed with various deciduous trees overhead, and an incredibly blue lake stretched out before them.

“You had one task, Kris.” His words rang out in the woman’s voice.

“It’s not my fault your trap failed.”

“Watch your tone with me.” Michael turned around, flashing his vessel’s brown eyes blue. Kris found herself on the ground of the forest, pine needles sticking at her. “You’re the one who failed.” Michael was now standing over Kris.

 _Typical_. She thought. _Another man at the top of the ladder, throwing his problems onto the people below him._

Kris stood up. Her vessel was short, but she tried to be as intimidating as possible when staring down Michael. “Perhaps you should have given me what you promised!”

“In due time, Kristen.”

“No, you were going to let those stupid fucked-up creatures of yours murder them! How does that fit in with our deal?”

“You are not ready.”

“Oh, save your stupid arrogant bullshit. I’ve waited a long time for this, Michael, and the only reason I’m helping you is because you promised.”

The Archangel turned back to the lake, it’s dark blue waters and the cloudy sky reflected in his eyes. If he was thinking about what Kris had just said, it was unnoticeable in his demeanor. “Fine,” he said finally, “Then I will set it up.”

“Soon.”

“Oh, Kristen, soon for someone like you and soon for someone like me are entirely different things. When the time is right, you will have your revenge.” Michael turned back to Kris, placing his hand on her hair. “Everything you wanted. Just like I promised.”

“You better, Michael.”

Michael nodded as the wind blew at the wisps of his vessel’s pulled-back hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that moment about the whole spying thing seems really random but I just had to make the differentiation between the show and my fic, if Michael could spy on them that would just ruin my entire story.


	15. Bargaining Chips

_Seventeen days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

The trunk of the black chevy Impala slammed shut and the sound reverberated off the cement walls of the Bunker’s garage.

“Well, I’d call that a win,” Sam said, pulling the green canvas bag higher on his shoulder and smiling.

“Oh, yeah. Piece of cake,” His brother answered with sarcasm, already making his way out of the garage.

“Come on, don’t be so grumpy. Werewolves are dead.” They turned into the Bunker’s halls leading out from the garage.

“‘Grumpy’? What am I five? Yeah, werewolves are dead, good for them. Check that off our never-ending list.”

Sam sighed as they passed Jack’s closed door. “You’re the one that wanted to hunt.”

“Yeah, because we’re _Hunters_ , Sam. That’s what we do.”

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean turned and pulled open his bedroom door. “You’re not gonna come into the War Room?” Sam asked.

“And what? Say hi to my adoring fans? I just drove for ten hours straight, Sam. I’m going to bed.” And Dean’s door slammed shut.

Sam sighed again. Dean had been in a foul mood for a little over a week now. His most recent excuse being because he had been pinned down by a werewolf in Jonesboro and Sam had ended up shooting both of the werewolves in the heart without Dean’s help.

But Sam knew it wasn’t about which one of them killed the werewolves, this was about Michael. Not like Sam could blame him. 

Rowena had nothing on well, anything, and she had begun threatening to make people spontaneously combust if they asked her one more time what she found. She had since left the Bunker, Sam hoped to get more resources to do more research, but he had a feeling it was just to get away from them all.

They continued to look for Rosa but had seemed to have run out of the luck they never had on finding the prophet. There was still a magical, angel-killing weapon out there somewhere that they had yet to find, and that was only if Michael didn’t already have it.

Sam knew that Dean had continued looking for Kris, but that was no luck either, so they had put out a notice for Hunters to inform them of any demons they came across. But not one demon had been spotted. Hell hadn’t been this quiet since before Sam left Stanford.

Then there was Tobias Nevin, a man who had been missing for almost two months and they had identified as the strange zombie-demon-angel hybrid in their dungeon. He did absolutely nothing, just sat there staring off into space. Occasionally, he got riled up, thrashing about, but eventually he calmed down again. Which they all figured had something to do with Michael, but didn’t really know what that meant.

They had done more research on missing people, but since Dean and Cas only saw and read part of Michael’s list, they couldn’t tell who was truly missing and who was kidnapped-by-an-Archangel missing. Yet, there wasn’t much they could do for the missing people. Everywhere they turned was just as unhelpful as the way they had come from, and it was continuously getting on everyone’s nerves.

They had put up angel sigils in Dean’s room for extra protection. Although the Bunker’s warding should keep Michael out, they thought it was better to be safe. Dean had stayed at home base for exactly two days before he insisted on taking a case in Tucson, Arizona.

Everyone thought it was an awful idea for Dean to leave the Bunker, but he was stubborn about taking the case, so Sam ended up going with him. Once they touched down back at the Bunker, having eliminated the Chupacabra in Tucson, Dean caught another case. Sam followed him along to Jonesboro, Arkansas, which they had just gotten back from, a city now two werewolves shorter than it was before.

Sam entered the War Room. AU Hunters were swarming the place, the many voices producing a hum in the room.

Jules passed Sam carrying a container with some sort of green salve in it. She stopped. “Hey, Sam. How was the hunt? Where’d your brother go?”

“It was good. Just two werewolves. And, uh, Dean’s in his room.”

“Oh, good.” She smiled, and Sam swore he saw something similar to relief wash over her face.

Sam knew Dean had been steering clear of the Hunters and the crowds they formed since being free from possession, but now he was pretty sure the aversion wasn’t one-sided. Either because Dean was cranky at the moment, or because he had a sliver of Michael in him, Sam was sure the Hunters were trying to avoid crossing his path. Maybe it was best that Dean decided to stay in his room.

As Sam made his way to the map table, he got a couple more greetings. Mary looked up at him from the table. “Sam!” She said happily, “Where’s Dean?”

“His room.” He stood next to her, staring down at the files and the tablet on the table before her. “What you got?” He asked.

Mary picked up her tablet off the table. “New possible cases to review, updates on which case each hunter is on, and the last time they checked in.” Sam took the tablet, looking down at the document that was open on it. He had asked Mary to take charge while he was away with Dean. It looked like she had kept everything perfect and organized.

“Great.”

“The only person to miss a check-in was Bobby.” And sure enough, his name was highlighted red on the program on the tablet. “But you know him, he forgets about that stuff. I’ll call him and get an update.”

“Sounds good. And Cas and Jack?”

“Jack’s in his room, I think. Cas is here somewhere, Ryan asked for his help on something.”

Sam nodded.

“And Dean?”

“He’s good, Mom. You know you don’t have to worry about him so much. I woulda told you if something was going on.”

“I know. I just- I don’t want to repeat another summer like this last one.”

Sam understood that. All of them seemed to be on edge with the news that Michael could just pop in whenever he felt like it. But they were taking precautions. They had to hold to the hope that they would get Michael before Michael got Dean. Again.

***

Dean walked into the library of the Bunker. Everything was silent. He hadn’t crossed anyone’s path as he headed there, they were probably all sleeping by now.

Still, someone had left on one of the lamps in the library. It’s yellow glow illuminated a man in the corner, picking out a book from the shelf.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked stupidly; the man was obviously looking for a book to read.

The man turned around, holding the book in his hands.

Dean’s face contorted with confusion. “Dad?”

He wasn’t the old, gruff John that Dean had known growing up. This John was still young, still in his early twenties.

“John Winchester?” The man spoke, “Interesting.”

His voice was hard and smooth, not John’s natural voice, but another familiar voice that made Dean’s stomach drop. A voice that had already once occupied that body. Dean then registered the stiffness of his “father’s” body and the emotionless state of his face. “You’re not my dad.” Dean looked around. “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

“Two for two, Dean. Of all the forms I have taken, I’m surprised this is the one you have chosen.”

Well, there were his suspicions confirmed. This was not John Winchester. This was Michael. “‘Chosen’, right. Like you didn’t dress up like my dad for kicks.”

“Oh, no Dean.” Michael put the book back on the shelf. “In your mind, I manifest however you want to see me.”

Dean swallowed. Michael’s words seemed to echo in the library. He suddenly felt a pang in his chest, fear pumping from his heart into his arteries.

“Don’t be so afraid, Dean. I didn’t come to possess you. Not yet, at least.”

Dean took a step towards his enemy.

“And don’t be so naive. You can fight me here, but it won’t make much difference.”

Dean shrugged. “At least I’ll have landed a blow on your dumbass face.”

“You mean your father’s face? You really hated him, didn’t you? I suppose we are the same that way. What I would do to give my Father a piece of my mind. But I came for other reasons, Dean.”

“We are nothing alike, Michael.”

“No? Personally, I see more similarities than differences. Both born to fight. Both had rebellious little brothers, who we tried so hard to protect.” Dean scoffed. Michael continued, “Both abandoned and hurt by our fathers. Oh, I suppose there is one difference though. I was made to be my Father’s champion, His great warrior. You. Well, my Father, The Creator, He made you for one purpose, Dean Winchester: to serve me.” Michael flicked his hand and Dean went flying backward, slamming into the ground, sliding across it until his head hit a bookshelf. “Now, stop interrupting me. I have a proposal for you.”

Dean got up off the ground, rubbing the back of his head and glaring at Michael. From the shelf behind him, Michael picked up a golden egg that had definitely not been there before.

“Hyperbolic Pulse Generator,” Michael said, “Or as I believe you call it, ‘The Egg’. Trust me, Dean, this may be a dream, but I do have this device in real life. Picked it up from your ‘friend’, Arthur Ketch, in England.”

Dean twisted his hands into fists.

“I could have killed Mr. Ketch, but I figured he could be a bargaining chip. So, he’s been in my possession, not literally, for quite some time now. As for this…” Michael gestured to the egg. His eyes turned blue, lighting up in the darkness of the room. The egg burned gold and began to melt in Michael’s hand.

“No!” Dean screamed.

The last of the egg slipped from Michael’s hand and he wiggled his fingers. A smile crept up Michael’s face. “3758 East Maywood Street, Springfield, Missouri. You have eight hours to get there with your hostage-”

“You mean your fucked-up minion we have as prisoner?”

Michael looked displeased. “Yes. He was hard to make, I’d like him back.”

“Why don’t you come get him then?”

“Yes, perhaps Mr. Ketch isn’t the best bargaining chip after all. Maybe you should ask your family where Bobby has gone?”

Dean stopped, searching Michael’s face for any sign of a bluff.

“He’s a good hunter, but he’s old, and my creatures are much faster. So come for my exchange, or I will turn your friends into my creatures, which will probably just kill them like it did Greg Derricks.” Michael smiled. “See you soon, Dean.”

Dean snapped up in his bed, eyes staring through the darkness at the Enochian warding that now crowded his bedroom walls. He vaguely rolled his eyes at them and flipped off his covers.

Dean began stuffing any clothing he could find into his duffle. His bedroom door slammed shut behind him and he didn’t even care to lock it.

He headed down the hall. Jack was coming out of the kitchen, eating a sandwich. “Dean?” He looked at him, puzzled. “Where are you going?”

“Jack, where’s Sam?”

“He went to help Cas help Ryan with something about some witch’s spell…”

“Jack, where is he?!”

“Storeroom 17, I think.”

Dean took off down the hall, Jack following at his heels. They passed a few hunters, but they only moved to the walls to let them pass in their hurry. And when Dean got to room 17, he slammed it open the door.

“Dean?” Cas asked, looking up from the ancient book that was open before him.

“Sam, where’s Bobby?”

“What?” Sam looked up from his own book, undisturbed.

“What? Am I speaking gibberish? Bobby, where is he?!”

“He’s on a case in Missouri.”

“Shit.”

“Dean, what’s going on?”

Dean sighed. “Michael has him.”

“What do you, mean-”

“We gotta go.” Dean turned to leave.

He was already rushing down the hall as he heard Sam’s footsteps leave the room. “Dean, slow down,” he called, “Explain what’s going on.”

Dean turned around sharply. “Michael came to me in a dream, okay? He wants to do a prisoner exchange. His little zombie thing for Bobby and Ketch.”

Sam blinked in confusion.

“Just get your shit, we gotta go!”

***

It took them ten minutes to scramble to the Impala. Cas shoved Toby into the trunk and Dean locked him inside.

“We’re not seriously going to give him to Michael?” Sam asked.

“I thought you were the one all about saving people,” Dean mocked with a humorless tone.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we gotta save Ketch and Bobby, but we cannot give up the one lead we actually have!”

“He’s a drooling mess, Sam. ‘Lead’ might be an over-exaggeration.”

Dean turned to get to the front of the Impala but Sam grabbed his wrist. “Dean, wait.”

Dean felt cold handcuffs slap around his wrists. He looked up to Sam with disbelief and fury. “You cannot be serious!?”

“You cannot go, Dean.”

“Well, you’re not gonna make me stay here!”

“Dean, Michael is expecting you. If he’s there, he will possess you! Again!”

“Last time I checked, that was my choice to make.”

“And look how well you ‘making that choice’ turned out last time!”

Dean stopped, the hot anger suddenly drained from him and was replaced with something cold. Sam’s face looked sorry but Dean didn’t care. It was a low blow.

Finally, Sam spoke again, ignoring his rude comment, “Keys, Dean.”

Dean pulled his now cuffed hands away from Sam and reached in his pocket. He hovered the keys over Sam’s hand before dropping them. Dean looked back to the Impala where Jack and Cas were standing awkwardly. Dean knew they had something to do with this, probably more Cas then the kid though. And maybe it would be the smart thing to stay behind, but when had the Winchesters ever done the smart thing?

“You can’t go without me,” Dean said, “Michael gave me an address. You don’t know it.”

Sam pressed his lips together. “Dammit, Dean!” Sam snapped.

“So I will keep the angel cuffs on, in case Michael decides to pop in, but I am going with you.” Dean dropped the keys into his brother’s hands. Sam shook his head. “We only have eight hours to get there and figure out a plan, so let’s get a move on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally randomly made up that address so if it is real, whatever is there is not what I had in mind.


	16. Going South

_Seventeen days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

Dean’s handcuffs jingled loudly for the thousandth time since being in the Impala.

“Would you stop?” Sam said from behind the wheel, his eyes fixed on the road in front of him.

“How ‘bout next time you wear the cuffs, and I can drive?” Dean looked back out the window.

Cas and Jack were sitting quietly in the back. Dean had been jittery in the passenger seat the entire drive, and Sam’s legs were starting to ache from being stuck in the same position for six hours.

“Are we almost there?” Dean whined impatiently.

Sam could feel his irritation bubbling at his skin. “We’re a couple minutes away.”

Dean huffed. Sam pulled the Impala off the crappy two-lane road into the dirt. “What the hell are you doing?”

Sam slipped the Impala into park. “We need a plan, Dean.”

“Okay, how about we go in there, get Ketch and Bobby, and murder them all?”

“Last time I checked, we don’t have a way to ‘murder them all.’”

Dean tried to fold his arms but got his cuffs twisted and ended up throwing them down instead. Sam looked back to Cas, and he caught his eyes, hoping he understood what he was thinking.

“So, what will we do?” Jack asked, leaning forward over the seat. “Are we going to give them Toby?”

Cas opened the Impala door and got out.

“What is he doing?” Dean questioned.

Sam shrugged.

Dean popped open his door. “Hey, Chuckles, what’re you doing?” Cas pulled Dean’s door open all the way. Dean looked up at him. “Uh, Cas-”

Cas’s fingers quickly brushed Dean’s forehead, he slumped forward, and Cas caught him. Sam felt something loosen in his chest.

“You think this is the best idea?” The angel added as he propped the unconscious Dean back up in his seat.

“We’re not letting Dean get possessed again,” Sam answered firmly.

Cas shook his head with a slightly vexed expression on his face.

“How long will he be out?”

“No more than thirty minutes.”

“Then we gotta get going. We only have an hour until we’re supposed to meet Michael, and we still need to figure out a plan.”

***

Dean opened his eyes, feeling rested and calm. He took a moment to study the strange black drawing on the wall across from him. Then something clicked in his mind. The calm faded as he noticed the familiar warding. He jangled silver cuffs against the pipe of a motel’s bathroom’s sink.

“Dammit, Sam!” He looked around at the tiny and slightly dirty motel restroom. “And the bathroom, really?”

He pulled at the cuffs. He wasn’t angry; he was pissed. He was going to find his damn brother and Cas, and he was going to give them a giant face full of his fist… several times.

He yanked at the chains. “Ugh! I’m gonna kill you, Sam!”

***

“They’re late.” Sam looked down at his watch. They had already been there for fifteen minutes, leaning up against the Impala and waiting for an exchange that seemed less and less likely to happen.

“Maybe they’re not coming. Maybe this was just a trap for Dean?” Cas suggested.

Sam didn’t like the idea. Dean was most definitely awake by now. The warding they drew on the restroom walls and the angel cuffs should be enough to keep Michael away, but Sam had little faith that his brother would sit tight and wait for them to get back. 

“Maybe we have to go inside?” Jack looked at the warehouse in front of them.

Sam surveyed the empty lot. Everyone who worked there had thankfully left, and the night breeze wisped through the air, carrying the scent of rain.

Sam took a deep breath. “I’ll go in alone, you two stay here and make sure they don’t get Toby.” Sam began walking towards the building.

“Sam, that’s a terrible plan. You are not-” Cas suddenly stopped, “Sam!”

A heavy hand grabbed Sam’s shoulder. The world blinked black for a moment before his vision came back to him, the inside of a warehouse now before him, with piles of wrapped up crates stretching above like tiny skyscrapers. Sam gave a glance behind him. He had been teleported inside by a giant man, more giant than Sam, who continued to stand behind him with his hand digging into Sam’s shoulder to prevent him from moving.

They were standing in a dark open area, but the glow from the lights outside peeked through the giant windows, creating squares of orange light on the floor that only semi-illuminated the inside of the warehouse. A woman stood at the edge of the last patch of light, holding an unconscious Bobby with a knife to his throat.

“I thought it was a perfect plan, Sam.”

Sam’s whole chest dropped as he sighed. “Kris.”

“In some poor drop-out’s flesh. Take away his weapons,” Kris demanded.

The man, or minion, or whatever he was now, pulled Sam’s angel blade out of his belt. As he pulled his other miscellaneous weapons from his person, Sam noticed that the demon across from him was holding onto Bobby’s unconscious form like a shield, protection. She was afraid.

“Where’s Ketch?” Sam asked as the last of his weapons were tossed across the room. The man left Sam alone and took place in front of the weapons, watching. He was huge, at least a few inches taller than Sam, and significantly wider. Sam gulped looking at him.

“Don’t worry, he’s here. Where’s your brother?”

“Not here.”

“Wow, you actually convinced the great stubborn Dean Winchester to stay behind? Really? I mean, I guess they always said it was his darling Sammy he’d do anything for. But how long will it be until Dean follows behind?”

“You wanted an exchange, that’s what we’re here for,” Sam ignored her jabs.

“Great, then why’s our property locked in the back of a safe-guarded trunk? Want to get it for us, Sam?”

Sam ignored her once more. “Why are you working with Michael, Kris? He’s an angel. He hates scum like you. He will use you and then watch you burn. Don’t you know that?”

“Personally, I don’t care, Sammy. Because Michael’s promised me something I’ve wanted for a long, long time.”

“Power?” Sam guessed.

“Weren’t you taking notes, Sam? I’ve told you already.” She answered condescendingly.

Sam crinkled his face in misunderstanding.

“Do you know what Hell is like, Sam? And I mean the real Hell, not that prissy place you went to. No, the Hell of fire and brimstone, of screams and torture and blood. Because it’s every fear you ever had, lived out for eternity. You know what I did when I was alive, I killed two people? Murdered them. Simple as that.” She pulled her blade from Bobby’s throat and pointed it at Sam. “How much blood do you and your brother have on your hands?! How many innocent and good lives have you taken? But still, you’re the Righteous. You’re the Good. The murderers who just get to brush off every mistake they’ve made while we all suffer for them!”

“So you want revenge? Because why? Because life isn’t fair?” Sam asked unimpressed.

The demon laughed.

“How about this, Kris: Exorcizamus te-”

“Really, Sam? First of all: Michael’s new little creature could snap your neck with a mear wink. And second-” She held up her arm that wasn’t holding onto Bobby. Sam couldn’t see anything on it through the darkness of the room. Kris must have known this as she went on explaining, “Binding link, Sam, prevention to exorcisms. Perks of working with Michael, I learned some new things.”

Sam stopped the exorcism, closing his mouth dumbly.

“You’re right, Sam. Life isn’t fair. But killing you for that is like stepping on a cockroach and then saying this earth is disinfected from every single pest.” She started laughing again. Sam rolled his eyes. A demon was one thing, but a demon that was off her hinges was just annoying. But her knife was held tight against Bobby’s neck. One false move and he’d be dead.

“So why are you monologuing, Kris? What do you want?”

“When I first opened my eyes in that blood-soaked place after my human death, do you want to know what I saw? Two hideous monsters, a demon and a human not much better: your brother, Sam.”

Sam felt his blood go cold.

“He stood over me, took that incredibly small razor, and began ripping me apart. He sliced and cut for whatever reflection of days Hell has. And I screamed for him to stop. And you know what he did when I did that, Sam? He smiled. Your brother smiled as he twisted my soul into some putrid reminisces of what I was. And I swore every day since then that I would find him, and I would rip him apart piece by fucking piece!”

“Kris, that was a long time ago. If- if Dean didn’t begin your torture, someone else would have…”

“Oh, I know. I just don’t care. Because it is your brother’s smile that I still see every time I hear the screams of Hell. Tell me, Dean, do you hear those screams still? Or are they more like music to your twisted ears?”

Kris turned her head around, but kept Bobby between her and Sam as her leverage. Sam was pretty sure Kris had utterly lost it, until his brother stepped out of the shadows, his footsteps echoing sinisterly through the warehouse. An angel blade in his hand.

Sam dropped his shoulders in disappointment. Guess Dean had finally gotten out of the cuffs.

***

Like before, Michael’s minions had come from nowhere. They had taken Sam, and now they appeared out of thin air in the parking lot, attacking Jack and Cas with everything they had. 

Jack didn’t recognize the woman attacking him, but she swung at him with all the force she had, which was a lot considering she was a magical, demented being.

Jack jumped out of her blade’s way as it whizzed passed his stomach. He looked over to Cas, who was currently taking on two of the minions. But it didn’t matter because whatever they did, the things didn’t die, at least not with anything they had tried. He looked to the Impala’s trunk, which two more of the creatures were trying to pry open.

“No!” Jack screamed. He ignored the fighting zombie-lady coming at him and began running for the trunk.

She grabbed him from the back of his shirt, and all Jack felt was the thump as his head hit the asphalt. He heard ringing. His eyes watered, and he groaned. The creature stood over him. Her eyes flashed blue for a moment and then she brought her blade high, ready to land it straight in his chest.

Jack flung his hand up desperately, hitting her chest. He began to whisper ten words of Enochian. Words that had etched themself into his head after spending nights in his room staring at them, studying them, wondering if they were worth it. They crossed his lips so fast that he was surprised they had created any reaction.

The woman began screaming. Fire erupted from her skin, consuming her. Jack rolled out from under her as she turned to char.

Jack got to his feet, his head throbbing. He could smell the scent of smoldering flesh, and when he looked down at the burnt thing that was once a woman, he felt the whole world tilt.

“Jack!”

“Cas?” Jack coughed and looked up as Cas was coming around the Impala, his angel blade in his hand, covered in blood.

He stopped, looking at the damage Jack had caused. “What did you do?”

Jack stared at Cas through the gloomy light of the night parking lot, he looked very concerned, but Jack found that he didn’t care much. Before Jack could think of an excuse, he suddenly realized that there weren’t any more minions coming after them. He looked over the Impala. The rest of their attackers were standing there frozen, blank-faced, just like they had in the hotel in Janesville.

Jack looked around into the night. “Dean?” He asked softly.

Cas stood expressionless for a moment, and then he took off in the direction of the warehouse.

Jack quickly picked up his feet after him, but his legs were wobbly and the world had begun violently spinning around him. He blinked once or twice and picked up the pace.

Castiel was pulling at the side door of the warehouse, but it didn’t open. Jack stopped next to Cas and put his hands on his knees to catch his breath, trying to keep his stomach contents down.

***

“This is going to be fun.” Kris smiled. She turned and threw Bobby to the ground, dropping her blade next to him.

Sam readied himself, wishing he had at least one weapon. Kris’s smile lit up her face in the dark. She flicked her fingers, and Sam felt his body slam against something hard. He opened his eyes, his vision blurry as he hung against one of the crates in supernatural suspension, unable to move while Kris was getting closer to Dean.

Like Sam, Dean was also paralyzed. He hung against the wall, the angel blade he had brought knocked to the ground in front of him, unreachable. But even through the darkness, Sam could tell he was glaring at Kris with fire in his eyes.

“Unfortunately, I can’t kill you, Dean.” She straightened Dean’s jacket as they stood face to face. “Nope, you got a ‘reserved for Michael’ sign plastered on your ass. But, you know what Michael promised me?”

“Hopefully strippers and a whole lotta booze,” Dean quipped.

“Your brother. Your angel. Your mama. Your pesky little kid. Everyone you care about.” She turned her hand towards Sam and twisted it in the air. Sam felt something burn in his stomach and blood came pouring over his lips, hot and viscous. “Because what’s better revenge than taking away everything you ever cared about? I’ll kill them-” Sam was free from immobilization, and he fell hard on his knees, coughing the abundance of blood out of his mouth. “And then Michael will come and take you.”

Sam fell onto his side, blood pouring from his mouth as he stared at the demon with her mess of brown hair and her wild eyes. He watched his brother, violently trying to push himself off the wall only to be snapped back like a rubber band. Dean’s face was hard, anger injected into every molecule of it. Then Sam felt like something was twisting his insides.

“Stop! Kill me. Take me to Michael. But just stop,” Dean yelled.

“Funny, I remember asking the same thing from you, Dean Winchester. When you slowly ripped away my humanity.”

Dean continued to struggle. The pain was agonizing, but Sam knew he was still conscious because Kris was taking her time killing him, making him have to feel every second of it. Dean stopped trying to free himself from the wall.

“Kill her,” Sam heard his brother mutter, although Sam had no idea who he was talking to. He peeled his eyes away from Dean and the demon. Grasping his stomach, he curled himself up on the floor.

“No! You work for me! You work for Micha-” Then Kris screamed long. Sam breathed shakily as the torture finally stopped.

He felt someone touch him lightly. “Sam?” It was his brother’s voice, but Sam couldn’t open his eyes to look at him, there was too much pain impaling his insides.

“Heal him!” Dean screamed before Sam felt an incredibly cold hand touch his head.

Then it was all gone- all the pain, even the sticky blood on his mouth, gone. Sam looked up at his brother who let a long sigh fall from his pale lips.

“Thank God,” Dean muttered.

“What happened?” Sam looked up to the giant Michael creature that was standing at Dean’s side, and suddenly he understood. A small sliver of an archangel was all it took for all of the beings Michael created to be under Dean’s control.

Sam got to his feet, and Dean grabbed on to him to help him up. Or was it Sam who was helping his brother up? They both seemed to lean on each other equally.

He might have been healed, but he still felt the remnants of Kris’s torture. He looked to her dead body, eyes gazing out in horror, frozen like that forever. “You didn’t get to kill a werewolf, but you got the crazy-ass demon.”

Dean cracked a smile, but Sam couldn’t help notice that his brother hadn’t let go of him. He was still gripping onto his jacket. 

“Dean, are you okay?” Sam asked his stark-white brother.

“Peachy.”

Sam gave half a nod.

It was quiet for the following moment and Sam heard crickets chirping in the cracks of the building. There was a slight banging from far away.

“Winchesters.” The family name echoed through the warehouse. Sam groaned, not another person to fight.

Naomi stepped into the golden light that shined through the windows. Sam reached for his angel blade and then realized it was still in the corner where Gigantor had tossed it.

“Why are you here, Naomi?” Sam asked.

“To clean up Michael’s messes, it seems.”

“You, working under Michael? Doesn’t seem your style.”

“You can never understand, Sam. Everything I have ever done was for the greater good of Heaven.”

“Like brainwashing Cas?”

“It seemed like that is what it would take at the time. Now, an allegiance with Michael is what it will take. Therefore, I will take it.”

“What he has made- they’re monsters, Naomi. Not angels, not pets. They’re his personal minions that would destroy you if he asked them to.”

“You’re right, but they work. Heaven is getting stronger for the power that he has given them. And isn’t any risk worth taking for that?” She lifted her hands and snapped, nothing happened. “I never really liked you boys. Always thought you were entitled. But, I’m going to do you a favor and tell you that Michael is not going to be pleased, and now he’s going to come after you with everything he’s got.”

“Thanks for that.”

Naomi got close to the being that killed Kris, and she put her hand in his. “Goodbye, Winchesters.”

And then they were gone.

“Come on!” Sam yelled, stepping forward. The grip that Dean had had on his arm slipped away, and Sam heard a thud from behind him. He turned like a lightning bolt, staring at his unconscious, fearfully pale older brother on the ground. “Shit. Dean!”

***

Dean looked over at his own unconscious body, lying there in the warehouse, Sam shaking it violently.

Then he looked down at himself. He was wearing the same clothes as his motionless figure on the ground, but he knew he was nothing but a projection of himself. He sighed. “Shit.”

“Winchester, glad you stopped by.”

Dean wheeled around. Billie was standing in the shadows, dressed in all black and her long leather coat. Her hands were behind her back, and she gave her version of a smile, which was simply a millimeter upturn of her lips.

Dean hung his shoulders heavy and rolled his head back with a sigh. “Aw, Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I barely got this chapter posted today, I'll probably have to stop posting on Thursdays since I am just getting too busy.  
> Just wants to say I definitely don't see Sam's time in Hell as "prissy" or anything like that at all, just Kris being a typical demon. Also, the power it took me not to just kill AU Bobby (I don't like him very much), unfortunately, it didn't work with the story.


	17. Tortured Souls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to give warning that the second section (separated by ***) has some description of torture in Hell. And while I do not think it is too graphic, if that is something you are sensitive to you may want to skip the second section.  
> Also, I will continue to only post of Sundays since Thursdays have become too busy :)  
> Thanks for reading

_Seventeen days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

"You're not dead, Dean."

"Great. Then why am I hanging out talking with Death?"

"You're dying," Billie said.

"Awesome. Happens more often than not these days."

Billie's dark eyes were cold. "I told you I'd see you soon."

"Huh, wanna explain your definition of soon? Because that was months ago. Lot's happened since then."

"You think you would understand how cosmic beings view time after being possessed by one for _months_."

Dean felt something heavy in his chest. Despite all of the joking around, Dean wasn't too fond of conversations with Death. But he continued to stare at her standing motionless at the end of the shadows in the warehouse. It looked exactly like it did on the other side of The Veil, except the golden light that poured from the windows was gone, replaced by a pale and colder version.

"I warned you about the dangers of hopping between worlds."

"Yeah, well, when have I ever listened to anyone about doing the smart thing?"

"One three-lettered word and now an alternate version of the fiercest Archangel is bound to this Earth."

"'Fiercest Archangel'? Where do you get a title like that?"

She looked dead into Dean's eyes, and he felt his composition crumble. "You are withering away on a warehouse floor in Missouri, and you find the time to make jokes?"

Dean kept his mouth shut this time. She glared at him. Dean glared back. Moments passed. Finally, Dean pulled away. Looking around, Dean noticed that the corners of the warehouse had become darker than seconds before, slipping away into some void and crowding the end of everything he could see.

Sam was still over his body, screaming his name, but it was slower than real time and dulled like hearing someone from underwater. He had been in this situation too many times to count: looking down at his dying body, dissociated from what was happening to him in reality, and watching Sam lose his mind to try and wake him up. But somehow, this was different. This time he really felt like it. He truly felt like he was dying, getting closer to the edge of that void. He felt himself shutter.

He looked back to Billie. There was some strange emotion rippling her face. Dean was pretty sure it was pity.

"Honestly, Dean, helping you is the last thing I want to be doing right now. But those books in my Reading Room, the ones that say how you die, they're dwindling."

"Dwindling?"

"It happens to everyone as they get closer to their permanent death. I've read them all, Dean, and honestly, I'm not liking how most of them end."

"Do I become president?" Dean joked, but it fell flat.

"You or your brother try to stop Michael in various ways, you fail, and Michael destroys this universe. Basic summary of most of them."

"Great."

"So, I want you to kill him before this happens."

"Oh, alright, let me get right on that. No, wait, I have no idea how to do that! And if I try to flip through the possessed files in my brain, I-" Dean gestured wildly to his dying body on the ground.

"Michael's grace is like a parasite inside you. He put it there for safekeeping, but he didn't realize you could still access it. It's not natural; your body reacts negatively when you try to use it."

"Sorta got that part."

"Umhmm. The weapon that stabbed you and Michael, I don't have it, and I cannot give it to you."

Dean rolled his eyes. "So plan B on murdering the 'fiercest Archangel'?"

"But I can tell you this: it is powerful, and it is ancient. Given great magic from great spellcasters, it can harm almost anything. But it comes with a price."

"'Course it does."

"It has been handed down from great magic practitioners to other great spellcasters. And everyone who has used it knew the price. When the wielder uses it to harm another, it pulls at a piece of themselves, a strong piece. A sliver of one's soul."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Soul magic?"

"You've seen it before, in a different sense. If you use the weapon to take down Michael-"

"I lose my soul."

"No, because your soul is currently intertwined with leftover Archangel grace. The magic of the weapon will pull at all your soul, it will rip you apart, and then you will die in agony. There will be nothing left of you, Dean Winchester."

Dean stared in horror. He placed his hand on his chest as if he could feel his soul, even though he no longer had a body, and he was perhaps just a soul right now… if that was how out of body experiences worked. Dean wasn't sure.

He looked back to his body, but it, along with Sam, had been swallowed by the creeping darkness. It was just him and Death having a conversation on the edge of his life.

"The person who has it now, they don't have a soul?"

"You're not listening. It pulls at a _piece_ of your soul. She still has a soul, but only a tiny bit. The weapon has not taken it all from her, yet."

"She? You know who it is?" Stupid question, of course, Billie knew who the wielder was.

She entirely ignored him. "I have to know, Dean, are you willing to die to kill Michael?"

Dean looked around at the enveloping darkness. When he was younger, he didn't believe in Heaven or God, certainly not in angels. He had assumed that when you died, that was it. Now he knew the truth. When had the idea of the nothingness of death begin to scare him?

"Dean?"

"I-" He looked at Billie. She was standing there patiently, and she hadn't moved an inch from the place she arrived, like a statue. She was a being free of fear. And she had always longed for him and Sam to end up in the void. Now, she was just helping him get there faster. But there was a gift to that, the death of a great enemy. Instead of just pushing him through the flames, she was asking him to jump into them willingly. Wasn't that his life, though? Since he was very young, that was the deal: fight with everything you got, and go down swinging. He swallowed. Michael had to be stopped by someone. "I'll do what it takes. I'll kill Michael."

"Good." She lifted her right hand, and a tiny, leather-bound book appeared in her hand.

"What's that?"

"I do not like the witch, Rowena. After all, she did try to manipulate and kill me. But, there is a page in this book that she will use to help you."

"To find the weapon?"

"No, the weapon will be much harder to find. But I have faith that you, and the rest of your family, will pull it together."

"Wanna at least give us some helpful hints?"

"The book will help you, Dean," she repeated.

"Okay?" Dean asked curiously.

"Do not think of double-crossing me. This time, I expect you to keep to your word, understood? Do what I ask and rip out the parasite Michael has infected this world with."

"'Parasite'?" Dean felt his face drop. "Like Michael's grace 'parasite'?"

"Your angel is here."

"What?" He had no idea what that meant. He looked around the inky blankness, almost expecting Michael to stroll out.

She dropped her arm holding the small book, and turned back to the shadows.

"Uh, don't I need that special book?"

She looked over her shoulder. "The sliver of Michael inside you is dangerous. But it is power, use it sparingly, Dean."

"Don't you mean 'never again'?"

"No, there will come more times you will have to pull at that connection, just make sure it isn't as much as you did tonight. Or I will make sure there is no Reaper to take you, and you will have a front-row seat to watch Michael destroy this world." She turned back and began walking into the nothingness before her. Her last words rang through the hollowness, "Don't fail, Dean."

***

Screams. Thick oozing blood hitting the hot stone ground and bubbling. More screaming. Weapons of all kinds cutting through flesh, through muscle, right down to the bone. And perpetual screams. Screams to stop, screams for long-forgotten people, screams for help, screams of meaningless nothingness. But painful, awful screams, never lost, never forgotten...

Dean screamed once too. Mostly just one name. For so many of those lost days. When Alastair cut into Dean's chest and pulled out his heart: he screamed for Sam. When Alastair twisted his knife into Dean's eye and he felt the warm blood gush in the socket: he screamed for Sam. When he cut and carved and sliced into him, Dean screamed for his brother, for anyone he knew, to save him.

But after so long, Dean stopped screaming for people. He still wailed in pain, but there was no chance Sam, or anyone, was coming for him. This was eternity. This was Hell. He had earned this…

On that last day, Alastair had reduced him to a pile of blood and bone. Every breath was more pain pumping through his body. Staring at that demented white-eyed face was like looking into an abyss that held all your fears and pain.

If he had been alive, he would have been dead long ago, but this was Hell. In Hell, you could survive with all your intestines on the floor yet still feel the atrocious pain.

"You know the rules. You know how this works, Dean. I'll take you right off that rack if you take this little tool and carve it into someone else instead."

"Go screw yourself," he croaked. Funny how even with the pain and the mutilated body he could still talk, and he could always scream.

Alastair twisted his face into what Dean now knew was meant to be a smile. The days were getting longer; Dean was sure of this. The torture hadn't become num; it had become worse and worse, longer and longer. And now, Alastair lifted his silver blade and started again on his increasingly creative torture.

Dean's scream joined the cacophony of other screams in the blood-soaked Hell.

"Stop." It was a whimper in the lull between the carving.

"There's only one way I stop, Dean. You know this," he laughed.

Dean felt hot tears fall from his eyes. He was trembling, and the pain was searing through his body. "I'll do it, okay? Just please, please stop."...

"Watch your handy work, Dean."

He tried to look away, but Alastair's cold hand pushed his head back to look, forcing him to watch the distorted faces of his victim's scream.

And something broke. Something was finally free. It cracked all along the surface and then crumbled apart in pieces. Smelling the fear that drenched the air, Dean smiled and cut deeper into the soul in front of him…

A laugh from a distorted monster, ringing above, enjoying the beautiful pain of others. A laugh that morphed into his own, echoing those who had taken everything from him.

The quiver of lips smiling, for so much pain that was finally free from him, that had finally become someone else's...

_I remember asking you the same thing, Dean. When you slowly ripped away my humanity..._

Dean felt something break all over again, but those cracks didn't make the pieces crumble apart. They were filled by something else: puree and ugly guilt, and the longing for the voices to cease their screaming...

_And I swore every day since then that I would find him and rip him apart..._

There were no faces to remember. No face of Kris that could be placed. No memory of who she was. Because he didn't know, he didn't care; he just pulled them apart, smiling and laughing while he did.

_A monster._

There was nothing to remember but the endless lost screams of them all seared into the mind of a broken man.

***

There was a blinding white light that felt warm against Dean's arm. It felt like the afternoon sun, calm and drowsy.

It was coming from a man in front of him, erupting from his inside and leaking out. Dean pulled his hand away. The body dropped. Dean stepped over it.

There were others there too. Other dead, burnt-out bodies that he walked over.

He opened the door. There were three in there. One of them threw herself at him. He quickly lifted his hand and felt the warmth as it spread through her as it killed both her and her vessel.

The second demon looked at him with a readied blade. Dean could tell he wanted to run, but Dean blocked the only door. The third demon was shackled against the wall, bloody and looking at him with daggers.

"Will you be smart?" The voice rang out in the room. It took a moment for Dean to realize it was his voice.

The demon screamed some battle cry and ran at him. He blocked the coming blade, twisted the demon's arm, and plunged his own weapon into his gut. The demon fell to the floor, dead.

"I suppose not," Dean answered his own question.

But this wasn't right. Michael was in control, that was obvious, but this wasn't a memory of being possessed. This was only a reflection of what happened—looking back on something entirely dissociated. Dean wasn't the one murdering demons. All this was Michael. Yet he wasn't watching from a second-hand drowning position inside. He was watching for the first time from some third point of view.

Michael used Dean's body to get closer to the last demon.

She spat at him.

"Riled up, are we?"

"What're you? Because you look like my torturer, but you're not."

"Your torturer?" Michael chuckled. "You mean the one who did this to you?" He gestured to her black eye and cut face.

"No, dumbass, the original one. Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about."

"Of course. I've come to help you. Kristen, right?"

"I'd never take help from someone with that face."

"Yes, Dean Winchester is quite the handful. But don't worry, I'm not him. He's locked in here." He tapped his finger to his head.

"Who are you?" She asked again.

"The Archangel, Michael."

"Impossible."

"Not so much."

"Dean said yes to you after all these years?" She hissed disbelieving through her bloody lips.

"Well, look who's been reading the history books—lost on current events though. Yes, I got the Winchester to agree to be my vessel. Now, I think we can help each other. I can get you what you want: your revenge on Dean Winchester."

"Oh, so you'll let me kill you and the guy you're possessing?!"

"You think too small, demon. Dean is mine, now and forever. But in battle, you always want to hit your enemies where it hurts most. Dean is already in my personal hell, and is he really much of a target when he already struggles through life in such a wretched way? Strike him where it hurts. In what he cares about: his family." She was silently listening. "The Winchesters might be 'untouchable', but with my help, you can kill the whole family, and Dean will feel that great pain you want for him."

She considered it for a moment. "I wanted to kill one Winchester, hard enough. You want me to strike all of them?"

"I'm an Archangel-"

"Who the Winchesters tossed into Hell years ago."

Michael sighed. "Well, look where I am now. I'm going to annihilate that family and all those who are their allies. You can either be with me, or I can leave you here for the next demons who come to check on their friends." Michael gestured to the dead demons on the ground. 

"An angel and a demon working together? How do I know I can trust you?"

"Good soldiers are hard to find, Kris. I just killed all your captors for you. Trust me, you'll never find another deal as great as mine. I promise you a chance at the Winchesters, that is not something that comes up every day."

She sighed. "You give me your word?"

"Yes. And I do always keep my word."

The demon bit her lip. "Fine, let me down."

Michael waved his hand and her chains snapped open. She landed on her feet on the ground. "Come now, we have work to do." Michael stepped over the bodies once more while Dean snapped back into consciousness.


	18. Death’s Note

_Seventeen days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

Dean took a sharp inhale and threw himself up into a sitting position.

“Dean?” Cas was kneeling next to him.

Dean gave him a small glance and then threw his feet over the other side of the bed he had been laying on, so he was facing the wall instead of the angel. They were in the motel room Sam had imprisoned Dean in.

Dean pressed the tips of his fingers against his eyes, and he felt something crinkle in his pant pocket as he moved. But his mind was so preoccupied with the faint screams of Hell and the warmth of Michael murdering angels, that he dismissed the unknown item.

“Dean, are you okay?”

Dean didn’t answer. Physically, he felt fine. Normal. Definitely better than when he had hit the floor of the warehouse. He looked slightly over his shoulder. Sam was there behind Cas.

“Where are Bobby and Ketch?” Dean asked, recomposing his face and fully turning towards half his family.

“Next room over. Ketch is fine, a little banged up, but Bobby’s still unconscious, we don’t know what they did to him. We were waiting for you to go check it out,” Sam answered.

“And Jack?”

“Watching them for us. He had a concussion, but Cas’s already healed that.”

“Really on the roll, eh, Cas?”

Cas’s blue eyes were full of concern that Dean didn’t like. “Dean, are you alright?” He repeated.

Dean stood up and opened his arms. “Good as new.” But inside, he still felt the guilt. It settled warmly in his chest, probably next to whatever Michael had left behind.

“Good,” Sam said before walking towards Dean, an angry expression on his face. Dean suddenly felt like he should duck, but instead, Sam shoved him. He stumbled back and caught himself. “What the hell were you thinking!?”

“God, Sam! You’re the one who freaking tied me down like a dog.”

“And you’re the idiot who not only went to the place where MICHAEL was supposed to be but also used that parasite inside you to almost kill yourself!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I saved all of us, by the way.”

“Yeah and almost died in the process!”

 _I have to know, Dean, are you willing to die to kill Michael?_ Billie’s voice rang in his ears. He stopped and swallowed, rubbing his sweaty hands on his jeans. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” His brother looked confused.

“I said I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. It was more of a reflex than anything else.”

Sam blinked at him once, then twice, utterly stunned. “You feel alright, Dean? You realize you just _apologized_ for risking your life?”

“Yeah, and I’m about to take it back if you don’t shut your goddamn mouth.”

Sam cracked a smile. Dean reflected it, but inside he felt odd like there was only one stitch left keeping him together.

“Uh, what about Toby? He still in his fun little spot in the trunk?” He asked.

“They didn’t even touch him. All of the people who attacked Cas and Jack were gone when we got back to the car, so I’m guessing Naomi took them with her.”

“Awesome. So, uh, Ketch and Bobby time?”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam made for the door.

Dean tried to follow him, but Cas put his hand out.

“It was very hard to heal you, Dean. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good, Cas, really.”

“That piece of Michael inside you is dangerous, Dean. You should stay as far away from using it as you possibly can.”

“It’s all under control, Cas.” Dean patted Cas’s shoulder. The angel gave a nod and then went after Sam.

Dean stopped in the room for a moment, remembering the crinkling in his pocket. He pulled out a folded piece of paper. There was a sticky note on it that read: _for Michael_. The page from a book that was apparently going to help him somehow. 

Cas had left the door open a crack, anticipating him following. Dean put the folded page back in his pocket and left the room.

***

In the next room over, Jack was pacing while Ketch was sitting in a chair, ice pack on his face, and still covered in a fair amount of blood. Bobby was lying on the bed.

“Dean!” Jack stopped pacing and looked up at Dean. “You’re okay.”

“Ugh, yes, I’m fine. God, I swear I’m gonna stab the next person who asks me that.”

Jack’s face fell. Dean knew he was being a dick, but he also didn’t care. He just wanted to move on to something else and stop thinking about what had happened.

“Jack’s right. You looked seconds away from death, surprised your angel could pull you back from that,” Ketch spoke while lightly touching one of the cuts on his face and wincing.

“You’re one to talk. You look like you just bathed with knives.”

“Well, Michael doesn’t have a very good sense of humor.”

Dean definitely knew that was true. He turned away. “What about, Bobby?”

On the outside, Bobby looked fine, but the fact that his chest was barely moving with breath seemed to indicate something else.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him, he won’t wake up,” Jack informed them.

Cas got closer and placed his hand on Bobby’s head. Dean crossed his arms, waiting for a diagnosis. 

“It’s a spell.”

“Can you undo it?” Sam asked.

“I think so.” He closed his eyes again.

For a moment, everyone was silent. Dean knew Bobby wasn’t their Bobby. Still, looking at him reminded Dean of learning to throw a baseball or watching old movies in his dusty house while eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, because it was the only thing the man was capable of making. It reminded him of the home that Bobby had provided for him, and Sam, throughout the years. It might not be that Bobby, but Dean had already lost one Bobby, he wasn’t losing another.

Cas jerked out of the way as Bobby sat up and coughed. After a moment of composing himself, he glared at the group. “What’re all ya idjits looking at?”

Dean heard his brother give a sigh of relief. “Michael jumped you,” Sam explained.

“Yeah, I remember that part. Don’t mean you all have to look at me like I’m some museum piece. And it wasn’t Michael; it was those weird monster things he created.”

“That’s why we hunt in groups, Bobby,” Sam answered sternly.

“You mean your dumb-ass buddy system? I work alone, Sam,” Bobby snapped back.

Dean widened his eyes at his brother and Alternate Bobby. Guess he really wasn’t all that much like their world’s version.

“So, uh, you were hunting what you thought was a vamp, right? Throats ripped out,” Dean tried to veer them away from their anger, which felt like an awkward position for him. He looked to Sam. “You think Michael set us up?”

“Certainly wouldn’t be beneath him.”

“And you-” Dean pointed to Ketch. “You were what? Jumped?”

“Sam had asked me to look for hyper- the egg, so he could use it to free you from possession, which I see he completed without it. Or did you get that too?”

“The egg was destroyed by Michael.”

“Yes, well, I tracked the egg’s location, but Michael was waiting for me. He kept me locked in a cell somewhere all this time. Couldn’t tell you where, though.”

Dean looked from Ketch to Bobby. Hey, at least those were two people he got to save.

***

“Jack.” Cas grabbed at Jack’s arm. They stood outside of both motel rooms, Sam and Dean already in theirs, Ketch and Bobby in the other.

Cas was too weak from healing Dean and Bobby to heal Ketch too, so the ex-Men-of-Letters had to rely on bandages to keep his wounds together. Bobby was already planning to head off. Cas might not be a human, but he was pretty sure the old hunter was embarrassed at being caught by Michael. Jack was heading to Sam and Dean’s room where they had promised to order pizza.

It was raining hard outside, but underneath the overhang Cas and Jack scarcely got wet.

“We have to talk about what happened at the warehouse.”

Jack stitched his eyebrows together.

“What you did to that minion...”

“I don’t know what happened, Cas. I just- I just set her on fire, I guess.”

“With your powers?”

Jack looked down. He looked guilty, and Cas had a bad feeling that he couldn’t quite place.

“Are you getting your powers back, Jack?”

“Maybe a little bit,” he said softly but kept his eyes plastered on his shoes.

“Jack, whatever is going on, you can tell me.”

“I know, Cas. I just don’t know yet. You said that grace takes a long time to regenerate. What happened back there might have just been a fluke.” He was looking at Cas again; his light blue eyes looked oddly afraid.

Cas nodded. He wasn’t sure what to believe, but he was sure that Jack wasn’t telling him everything. He let Jack go, watching the young boy head back into the motel room and hoping there was enough trust between them that he would eventually tell him what was going on.

***

_Eighteen days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

When Sam woke up in the middle of the night he turned over to find the kitchen light still on, Dean still sitting there.

Sam sighed and got out of the motel’s bed. Jack was sleeping on a cot at the end of both beds, and Sam had to squeeze around it to get into the kitchenette. 

His brother had a beer in his hand, staring at the wall absentmindedly.

“You still haven’t gone to bed? We got a long drive tomorrow, thought you woulda wanted to drive.”

Dean anxiously bounced his beer-free hand on the table. “Yeah,” was the only thing he responded with.

“Is this about Michael or Hell?”

Dean looked up at him, his eyes looked tired, but his face was determined. At least he looked better than when he had been dying on the floor of the warehouse. Dean shrugged in response. Sam was getting really sick of the “push it down and never talk about it” method.

“Because what Michael has done, what he’s doing, that’s not on you, Dean.”

“What happened to you saying it was my decision that screwed everything up in the first place?”

“Come on, Dean, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Dean scoffed. 

“Seriously, Dean. What you did, saying yes to Michael, it saved me, it saved Jack. You did all of this for your family. And that was the right choice, Dean, it really was. No matter how much I wish you would stop throwing yourself into the line of fire… Dean, Lucifer is dead because of you. That’s something to be grateful for.” Dean gave a lackluster nod. “And as for Hell. Dean, what happened there was a long time ago, and it wasn’t your fault. We’ve been over that before.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Yeah, but really, Dean, you did what-”

“No, I mean it doesn’t feel like a long time ago.”

“Oh.” Sam stopped.

“Does it for you?”

“Uh, mostly, yeah. I mean, I went through it, but I came out the other side, you know? It happened, but that’s over with. I’m never going back there, and Lucifer is dead… ”

“Mmmm.”

“It isn’t like that for you?”

“I don’t know, I guess Kris just brought some stuff back up.”

Sam didn’t know how to respond. They might have both taken trips to Hell, but they had been wildly different. Part of him wanted to remind Dean that Kris ended up in Hell because she was a murderer, but he was pretty sure that was the entirely wrong thing to tell his brother. “You’re never going back to Hell, Dean. What happened, happened for better or for worse. One day, you gotta figure out how to forgive yourself.”

“Humph, I guess.” Dean was staring off into the distance again, then finally he said, “Since you’re up, I should probably tell you: I had a meeting with Death, uh, with Billie.”

“What?!” Sam realized how loud he was being and peeked back at Jack, but the Nephilim was sleeping soundly.

“Yeah, when I was out.” Dean twisted in his chair and pulled an old piece of folded paper out of his jean pocket, placing it on the table. It had a small yellow sticky note on it that read: _for Michael._

“What the hell is that?”

“Billie said it would help. Don’t know how and haven’t looked at it yet.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re saying you talked with Billie, and she actually decided to help us, gave you a piece of paper, and you still haven’t opened it yet? First of all, can we really trust Billie? And second, are you sure you didn’t hit your head? Because you’re being oddly inclusive.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “If I could take on Michael alone then he woulda been dead months ago. I thought you wanted us to be a team and all that shit anyway. And Billie, apparently she can see the future and doesn’t like the ones where Michael wins.”

“Huh.” Sam took the paper. It was old, fragile, and torn at one side as if it had been pulled from a book. He looked back at his brother, who was gripping his beer bottle like a life preserver and wondered why he hadn’t opened it hours ago when Billie gave it to him. Was it possible that the faraway look in his eyes was fear? Sam looked down at the page again, wishing he had been a fly on the wall for his brother’s audience with Death.

He unfolded the page. There were words written in an ancient language and a sigil-like drawing in the center.“It’s a- I think it’s a spell.” He dropped it on the table.

Dean looked over at it. He took it fast. “I know this.”

“You know the spell?”

“No, this symbol.” Dean analyzed it for a moment. He mumbled, “Kevin.”

“What?”

“Kevin and I painted it in the storeroom when you were possessed by Gadreel, it was supposed to let us talk to you without the angel listening in.”

“So if Michael possesses you it’s supposed to let us talk to you? Doesn’t seem that helpful.”

“I don’t think so. That didn’t require a spell like this. Do you know what language this is?”

“Not off the top of my head,” Sam answered, trying to study the nonsensical words.

“And Billie told us to get Rowena to help us with it, it’s gotta be more complicated, right?”

“Maybe it prevents possession? That’d certainly be helpful.”

“Guess we gotta call Rowena for another favor, she’s gonna love us.”

“Technically, she’s already working on this favor.” Dean closed his eyes, putting his head in his hands. Sam folded the spell back up. “Dean, get some sleep, dude. We’ll call Rowena in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Sam turned, walking back to his bed, feeling the half satisfied exhaustion tugging him back.


	19. Quarter to Seven

__

_Eighteen days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

“Interesting and where did you acquire this spell?” Rowena was once again sitting in the library of the Bunker, now staring down at Billie’s spell. She had thankfully picked up the phone when Sam called and, although she seemed annoyed, agreed to meet them in the Bunker to talk about what they had on Michael.

“Does it matter?” Dean asked, irritated.

Rowena opened her mouth, but Sam stopped the back and forth snippy comments before they could start. “We got it from Billie- uh, Death.”

“Death? Hmmm, well, it seems she doesn’t know as much as she thinks she does.” Rowena looked up at the boys, then continued, “It won’t work.”

“What?” Sam and Dean asked simultaneously. They gave each other a look and then turned back to Rowena.

“The spell is, like you thought, to prevent angelic possession. But it won’t work.”

“Care to elaborate, Rowena?” Dean asked in a put out tone.

“It’s not complete.”

“What does that mean?”

Rowena rolled her eyes and gave the boys a discontented face. When she spoke, she did so slowly, “The spell is missing the last part of it. It isn’t complete. Therefore, it cannot be cast.”

“Why would she do that?” Sam wondered.

“She’s Death, Sam, she doesn’t like to give away all the god damn answers!” Dean snapped.

Rowena looked at Dean with distaste. “Probably not the worst thing,” she commented, “The spell calls for a very powerful energy source to keep it going, I assume this is meant to be the grace inside you? That doesn’t seem like a very safe plan.”

“When have you ever cared about us being safe, Rowena? It would stop Michael from wandering in whenever he wants, sounds like a good idea to me!”

Rowena turned her lip up and handed the spell back to Sam. He took it with disappointment.

“Can’t you finish the spell?” Sam asked.

“Oh, Samuel, I might be the most amazing witch to walk this earth, but trying to piece together a spell like that without the original material, and then use it on your brother would most definitely kill him. Perhaps if I had the grimoire it came from?”

“Oh, right because Billie didn’t give me the book but she’ll hand it right on over to you! This was a waste of time!” Anger was practically fuming off of Dean. Sam felt like he should take a few steps back before he ended up being on the other side of it, or at least so he could feel less uncomfortable.

“Well, then-” Rowena stood. “I suppose this concludes our business. Would you like me to continue trying to find that weapon for you, or would you rather yell at me some more?”

Dean glared at her.

“Thank you, Rowena, for your help,” Sam added softly.

“At least one of you oafs knows some version of manors.” Rowena walked past Dean, her head held high, and her ginger hair bouncing as she went.

Dean turned to leave too, walking down the Bunker’s hall, his shoulders still carrying a phantom weight and fusing anger.

Sam threw up his hands and huffed. “Great.” So much for getting help from Death.

***

Dean passed Cas on the way to his room. Like always, the angel had a concerned look on his face, and he tilted his head as Dean walked by.

“Are you-”

“Say it and I will shiv you, Cas.”

Dean didn’t look back as he slammed his bedroom door. He ran his hands through his hair.

“What the hell, Billie!?” Dean let his question ring in the empty room. Anger was simmering inside him, burning up anything in between. Billie had asked him to keep his word and then tricked him anyway.

Dean swung his arms down in frustration and turned around, jumping eight feet out of his skin at seeing a woman now in the room. He recognized her. She was the reaper, Jessica, looking as perky as ever.

“Tell your boss to go screw herself!” Dean bellowed.

Jessica smiled sweetly. “She thought you’d figure it out.”

“Right. A GED only gets you so far, lady! How are you even here? Shouldn’t the warding keep you out?” Dean gestured to his now Enochian-painted walls.

“Those are for angels, and while reapers are related to angels, we need different warding. After all, not much can stop death from getting you.” She gave a slanted smile that Dean felt the urge to punch off.

“So, half a spell, really helpful considering I signed over my life to Billie!” Dean clenched his mouth shut, suddenly realizing that if anyone was passing his room, they would hear his barking. It was better to be quiet and keep the reaper’s presence a secret from the rest of the Bunker.

“Death doesn’t have the other half; she never has.”

“So she’s giving me her useless junk now?”

Jessica sighed. “You already know the symbol, Dean. You can figure out the rest.”

“You better start talking, or I will stab you.”

“No need to get violent. I can’t outright help you. There are rules. So how about I put this way: who showed you the symbol in the first place?”

Dean stared at the reaper with a blank face. He didn’t want to play along with their stupid game. “Kevin, he found it in the tablet,” he answered flatly.

“Exactly.”

“Exactly what? You want me to drag Kevin to help us out?” Jessica didn’t answer. She just looked at him, waiting. “Ugh, fine. Kevin was a prophet.” Dean thought out loud and then stopped, realizing what he just said. “A prophet. Rosa?”

“Precisely.”

“But we don’t know where she is either!”

“But someone in here does, Dean.”

Dean furrowed his brow, mentally recounting everyone he knew was in the Bunker. “You mean Toby? In case you didn’t know, he’s not entirely available right now.”

Jessica smiled. “But you can get him to talk.” She tapped at her chest.

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head. That was a monumentally stupid idea, stupider than most of his ideas, and that was saying something.

When he opened them again, Jessica was gone. His room was empty. His fan jingled as it spun around, producing an unsatisfactory chill into the room.

***

__

_Nineteen days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

Dean stood in front of his brother’s room, praying to any and every god that had ever existed, even the ones he killed, that Sam wasn’t already awake. That, like every day, Sam’s alarm would go off at 6:45, and he would roll out of bed and start whatever morning routine that Dean had always slept through.

He hoped that Sam would not read his stupid letter until after Dean got the information he needed. Because if Sam did decide to scramble out of bed early and pick up Dean’s letter, he would sure as hell stop Dean from going through with his brainless plan.

Dean slipped the note under the door, and walked quietly, heel to toe, away from the room.

He began making his way to the dungeon, knowing that when they had gotten home from Missouri, Cas and Sam had made sure the being was safely secured in the dungeon once more. Two hunters suddenly rounded the corner and began walking down the hall. Dean cursed to himself but smiled as they passed, wondering why it always seemed like there were more of them popping up everywhere. He rolled his eyes and carried on.

The door to the storeroom that hid their dungeon opened with a squeak. Inky blackness was the only thing that stared out from the storeroom and the adjacent cell behind. Dean flipped on the lights. All was silent. He looked at his watch. Eight minutes.

He shut the door behind him, his hand resting on the lock. He wanted to slip it closed, and make sure no one could bother his interrogation, but knew that if he shut himself in there, there would be no one to save him after he picked at the grace inside.

He grumbled inwards. When did he start needing people to save him? This was stupid. He didn’t want to use Michael’s leftovers to make the zombie talk. He wanted the grace gone; he wanted to rip it out and wash it down the drain.

He opened the not-so-hidden door to the cell. The being inside sat under the only light, staring off into space, his eyes as blank as a dead man’s.

“‘Sup there, buddy. Feel like helping me out?”

Toby Nivan stared out blankly.

“Yeah. Well, here goes nothin’. Where’s Rosa Sanchez?”

No answer.

“You know? Newborn prophet, Rosa, plays the guitar, apparently.” 

Nope, still nothing.

Screw him for this not being easy. Screw him and his blank face, screw Michael and well, Michael, and screw Billie for being her cryptic, mysterious self. Screw them all.

Dean took a breath. _It was more of a reflex than anything else._ A reflex. Something natural. God, that was an awful thought. Dean tried to feel it, feel the grace, feel that part of Michael. He could feel it when it was grabbing hold of him after he had irritated it. But now, there was nothing. Billie and Rowena said something about it being attached to his soul. He didn’t feel his soul. How was he supposed to feel something attached to it?

Dean opened his eyes and looked back down at his watch. Five minutes now. “Dammit!” Sam would be rushing down here any minute, and Dean would have to explain that it was all a false alarm. Really not trying to kill himself and activate that sliver of Archangel inside him, just, you know, hanging out with the catatonic man.

Okay. Focus.

Michael. Grace. Soul. Nothing else mattered, but where Rosa was. She was going to help them. She was going to save Dean from ending up as Michael’s little puppet again. Dean settled.

“Where is Rosa Sanchez?” His voice boomed. Deep inside, he felt something snap, an awful snap that seemed to reverberate through his whole body. Dean grabbed at the wall to steady himself.

“Michael?” Toby Nivan was looking up at Dean. For once, his eyes were bright, and his face actually had expression; it actually moved into the look of confusion. It was as if Dean activated him.

“Yeah, sure, let’s go with that,” Dean croaked, one hand keeping him from falling over, the other pressed against his chest, digging his palm into it as if that would help the grasping pain. “Where’s-” Dean tried to breathe, but it was like his lungs had frozen over, refusing to expand, and if pushed farther, they would only shatter. “Rosa?”

“Rosa Sanchez, prophet of the lord, is in your possession at your property in Clear River City, Colorado.”

Dean nodded his head stiffly, there was no way he could respond. He could barely breathe, let alone speak. Dean pressed his lips together and bit down on his tongue. He took a few short breaths and stared at his watch. Two minutes. Too long.

“Michael? Are you hurt?”

Dean ignored the thing in the chains and turned to the door. One step. He hit the floor. The world shifted blurrily in front of his eyes.

Last chance. He stuffed his hand into his pocket and pulled the phone up to his face. The light blurred his eyes. He pressed the call button. His hand was shaking. His finger hovered over the name: CAS. Dean’s eyes drifted closed as the pain enveloped him. His cell phone dropped to the floor with a clatter.

***

Jack paced back and forth in his room. That night he hadn’t slept. He had tried. After all, his now human body begged for it much too often, but he only ended up staring at the ceiling. He got up, pulled Kris’s spell out from under its place under his side table, and looked at it. Feeling the fear, guilt, and horror that it produced in him.

He had trusted Kris. He had trusted his father. He had trusted all the wrong people. He wadded up the spell, threw it across the room, and kicked the footboard of his bed, then swore and grabbed his foot, now throbbing with pain.

Kris wanted revenge on them. Which meant her spell definitely wasn’t as helpful as she pitched it to be. Which meant he had just screwed up all over again. And Cas had seen it, Cas knew something was wrong.

Jack wrapped his head in his hands. Hot, wet tears dripped from his eyes. He shouldn’t cry. That was childish. But he just kept going down the wrong road. He kept failing.

He looked back at the crumbled spell in the corner of his room. It was so small. How much damage could it actually cause? He went and picked it up. Cas would know what to do. Cas would help him figure this out.

Jack smoothed the spell out, feeling the bile that looking down on it caused. Folding it back up, he secured it in his back pocket. Jack glanced at his watch, 6:34 in the morning. Sam and Dean wouldn’t be up yet. The Bunker would still be fairly empty. This was the best time. He stopped at his mirror before vacating the room, wiping any trace of tears from his eyes. 

Jack left the sanctuary of his room and began to look for Cas in the Bunker. He passed Rhea and Spencer as they headed down the halls, but they hadn’t seen Cas. Finally, Jack found him in one of the back storerooms, reading. At least Jack had had the time he needed to settle back down and compose himself again.

“Jack? You’re already awake?” The angel asked.

Jack nodded. His mouth was suddenly parched. He seemed not to be able to form any words.

“Jack, I just wanted to let you know. What happened yesterday…” Jack felt his stomach clench. “I just want to say: it doesn’t matter if you get your powers back now or never, or if it takes a while to get them fully back. You’re more than your powers, Jack. And you will always have us.”

Jack nodded again. He swallowed whatever was left in his mouth, trying to figure out what exactly he had come to say.

Cas’s phone buzzed. He fished into his pocket and pulled it out, confusion suddenly contorting his face. He picked it up, pressing the phone against his ear. “Dean?” He asked.

“Cas!” Jack wheeled around to see Sam breathing heavily in the doorway, holding a piece of paper in his hand.

Cas’s face turned into worry. He dropped the phone on the table and quickly pushed past Jack as everyone scrambled into the hall.

Jack had no idea what was going on. But he followed at Sam and Cas’s heels as they ran through the Bunker’s halls, stopping only when they reached the dungeon. Sam forcefully pounded open the door, and when Jack peered in, he froze.

Dean was lying on the floor, deathly pale, his phone dropped from his hand. Jack suddenly felt like he was back in that warehouse, where Sam had finally opened the warehouse door, and frantically led them to a similarly unconscious Dean. And although Cas had already healed his concussion by then, he still felt dizzy looking at the dying Winchester.

In the Bunker, Cas crouched next to Dean. Just as he had two days before in that warehouse.

He closed his eyes both times.

In the warehouse, Cas spoke with hollowness, “I need time to heal him, we should take him back to the motel,” his voice rippled.

In the Bunker, Cas just shook his head.

Sam and Cas slung the eldest Winchester over their shoulders who drooped down limply as if he was already dead.

They pushed past Jack, into the parking lot outside.

They pushed past Jack, into the hallway.

Jack felt the anxiety itch across his skin. He looked back at Toby. His head was slightly dropped to the side, his eyes staring out blankly as ever.


	20. Grace

_Nineteen days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

Dean felt the cold abundance of air push into his lungs. He opened his eyes, still feeling winded, the shadow of an ache still in his chest.

He peeled himself off the bed, quickly noticing he wasn't in his own room, most apparent from the lack of warding crowding his walls and the fact that Cas was sitting next to him, face weighed down by exhaustion. Sam was standing in the center of the room, arms folded over his chest. Jack was standing against the wall, looking pale.

"Are you alright, Dean?" Cas asked.

Dean looked back to the angel. "I think I should be asking you that." 

“I’m fine.”

"Yeah, Dean," Sam spoke up, his voice fierce, "But you know why he's drained? Because he just had to put your stupid ass back together! Because you're an idiot! What the hell were you thinking?" 

"I was thinking that I could get the location of Rosa Sanchez." 

"So you just decided to walk in there and use that parasite inside you to ask a question and rip yourself apart? Dean, you literally could've died, again!" 

"When is that not true, Sam? We risk our lives every day. I saw a shot, and I took it! Now, we can get her to finish Billie's spell!" 

Sam's face contorted from anger to confusion. "Wait, why would she finish the spell?" 

Dean sighed, realizing his misstep. "She's a prophet." 

“So...?”

"I don't know Sam, I just know she can help us, okay?" 

"Why?!" Sam's face fell into one of his bitchfaces that Dean didn't have the energy to get passed.

"Because Jessica told me!" 

Sam glared at Dean like he was going to set him on fire. "We don't work for Billie. Hell, we barely trust Billie. When did you two start being buddies?" 

"We're wasting time," Dean cut in, "Rosa is in Michael's 'property' in Clear River City, Colorado." Dean got to his feet. He felt entirely normal now, although Cas slumped in the chair a little farther. Dean tried his best to swallow that guilt.

Sam exhaled with anger. "Fine. We'll go find Rosa." Dean smiled and turned to leave the room, but Sam put his hand on Dean's chest. "You're not going." 

"Oh, you are not benching me." 

"Sam's right, Dean," Cas said, sitting up in the chair, "We risked enough bringing you to Missouri. Michael has much more of a chance of being with Rosa, or coming to get her." 

"Then he can go screw himself!" 

"Dean, you're staying, and then, when we get back, we'll figure out the spell, and we never have to worry about Michael popping back in you whenever he feels like it." 

"I'll stay with you, Dean." Dean looked back over to Jack, who seemed to be trying to melt himself into the wall.

Dean sighed, rolling his hands into fists. He did not want to be stuffed in the back and wait while everyone else did the heavy lifting for him. Then again, he didn't want to be Michael's meat-suit either. "Fine, I'll stay with the kid, happy?" 

***

Dean watched Sam and Cas get in his car and pull out of the garage towards Colorado. When they were gone, he gave a huff of frustration and headed back inside. Dean didn't know where Jack had scampered off too, Mary had left for some hunt with some hunter that night, and the Bunker was more busy than usual, causing Dean to feel rather uncomfortable in his own home.

There was only one person Dean really wanted to speak to; he only hoped she hadn't left yet. He did his best to avoid the masses and instead of asking anyone where the witch could be, searched through the rooms in the Bunker quietly.

He found Rowena in one of the back rooms looking through more books and drinking tea. He was starting to think she was a bigger nerd than his brother was.

"Hey, Rowena." He pulled up the chair across from her.

"Is there something I can help you with?" 

"Maybe update me on magical weapons?" After all, if Dean couldn't find Rosa, the least he could do was look for the weapon they needed to defeat Michael.

Rowena gave an irritable sigh. "I told you-" 

"I know you don't know what it is... yet. But can't you tell me what you have? Maybe I can help." 

Rowena rolled her eyes and muttered, "I sincerely doubt that. The problem is, I don't have anything to work off of considering your wound is now healed. Therefore, I have to remember what the magic signature felt like and then compare it to others, understand?" 

“Okay?”

"Unfortunately, there are millions of magical signatures in the world and different ways to perform magic. But because no one around here seems to be able to comprehend this, I have to check them all myself." 

"So you're looking for a type of magic?" Dean paused. "What about looking at soul magic?" 

"Soul magic? That's a very uncommon practice. Nearly imposs- although, it could explain why it felt so different, so rare. What made you think of this?" 

Dean shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. "Just a hunch." 

“Mmhmm. I can look through your books on soul magic. Once I can unravel it, then I can track it, find what it is and where it is." 

Dean stood up, smiling. "Awesome, tell me when you got something." He turned to leave.

"Oh, of course," she sarcastically answered. 

Dean left the room and headed back to his own, unsure how he was supposed to spend the hours until Sam and Cas returned. When he got to his room, Jack was standing there, looking anxious, a seemingly popular mood for him nowadays.

“Hey, kid.”

"Dean, I have to ask you something." 

"Okay?" Dean opened his bedroom door and went inside, Jack followed.

The kid reached into his back pocket and took out an ancient-looking piece of paper. He held it up for Dean. "Do you know what this is?" 

Dean raised an eyebrow, unsure what Jack was getting at, and took the piece of paper. It looked- hell, it even felt familiar. Still, the words on it, whatever language it was in, was unknown to Dean. He shook his head. "Nope, maybe one of the other Hunters can help ya with it?" Dean responded.

Jack shook his head, he looked graven.

"Why? You know what it is?" Dean questioned.

"I- You don't understand, Dean." 

Dean was about to answer, but his phone began ringing in his pocket. He sighed and looked down at it. "Hold on a minute, Jack." He picked up his cell.

A young woman's voice came from the other end. "Dean?" 

“Who is this?”

“It’s Maggie.”

“Okay?”

"I, uh, I think Ian and I got a little in over our heads down here in Oklahoma. We could use some help." Her voice was shaky.

"Yeah, okay. What were you hunting?" 

"Actually, I gotta go. We're in Bartlesville, staying in room 13 of the Wayside Motel." She hung up.

Dean shrugged, securing his phone back in his pocket. He looked up to Jack, forgetting his question about some ancient page from the archives. "How do you feel about a hunt in Oklahoma?" 

"I thought we were supposed to stay here?" Jack asked, staring at Dean darkly.

"Sam said I couldn't go with him, not that I had to stay locked up." 

Jack shrugged. "I guess." Dean had never seen him be this unenthusiastic about a hunt. It seemed out of character for him. Then again, Jack was practically a teenager, despite his two years of age. Dean figured he shouldn't be too surprised over his moodiness.

“Great.” Dean walked over to his desk, looking for his keys. "Dammit, I gave Sam the Impala." 

***

Dean and Jack pulled into the Wayside Motel parking lot in a piece-of-shit car that was getting on Dean's last nerve as he longed for his classic Impala. Jack sat in basic silence throughout the drive, and Dean had long since forgotten about the piece of ancient paper he had shown him.

The motel was one story and looked like it was on its last legs of life, the perfect place for a hunter's stop. The car Dean was driving came to a winding stop in one of the motel's many empty parking spots. Dean pulled the key out of the ignition, got out of the car, and slammed the door as hard as he could with the imprudent intention for it to fall off or otherwise break down the unworthy car. The sound of the slamming door hit the lone motel building and fell into the hot breeze.

The place was empty. Dean almost expected to see a tumbleweed rolling through the parking lot. He hadn't bothered checking with anyone what case Maggie and Ian had been on or what was supposed to be happening in the town in Northern Oklahoma; he just walked towards room 13, Jack following behind like some depressed ghost.

Dean knocked against the door and called for Maggie inside. No answer. He looked to Jack, who was squinting into the afternoon sun. Deep inside, Dean knew the kid's fallen mood was an indication that something was wrong, but with a mind crowded with worries of archangels and prophets, he was bent on not being too concerned about the Nephilim's depressed state.

Perhaps he was still upset that his father had eaten his grace. Maybe he was just worried about Cas and Sam, heading towards Michael's secret estate where a prophet was being held. Which was such a dumb sentence that Dean rolled his eyes just thinking about it. Dean knocked again.

"Dean," Jack said deeply from his side.

Dean looked back to the kid. A boy who looked to be in his late teens walked into the parking lot. He had dark brown skin that reflected the sun's white glow. His hair was curly and cut short against his head. He was dressed in a simple, light grey suit, and he walked stiffly.

He stopped in the middle of the parking lot, straight across from Dean and Jack.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean questioned, although he already had an inkling that the unnaturally stiff man was an angel.

"Name's Idarah," he said, "Glad you could come." 

"Where's Maggie and Ian?" Dean asked dryly.

“Dead.”

"No!" Jack growled. Dean put his hand out, stopping the kid from getting closer to the angel.

"So this is a trap? Set up by big ol' Michael?" Dean questioned.

"He'll kill them all now until you surrender to him." 

"He's the one who let me go." 

"Make no mistake, Winchester, you are branded by him, and he will take you once more." 

"And then you'll all ride off into the sunset, right? Save it. Michael will destroy this world, and you know I'm right." 

"Michael is our savior. The age of the Winchesters is falling, the angels will rise, strong again." 

"Alrighty, how 'bout we get this over with?" Dean pulled his angel blade from his belt.

"I did not come to fight you. I came to take you." 

Dean rolled his eyes, only to feel a sharp pain push him to the ground and plunge his mind into darkness.

***

Grace Sparks sat in the church, scribbling in her journal. She had gotten used to spending an excessive amount of time in the church which she used to only occupy on Sunday evenings. She had always been religious to a certain extent, but now every waking moment was devoted to Michael. He had chosen her, along with her husband, Jakob, and the rest of their faction, for God's work. An honor.

Except, the work he asked for was hard. Yes, important, but taxing. They struggled to find the demons, devils, and evildoers that Michael asked for. Even when they did find them, Michael himself didn't show up. Instead, he sent the angel, Idarah, to bring them to him to be judged.

Grace, however, felt guilty. There was a growing doubt inside her. After all, it was only that day Grace had watched a young woman cry and beg for mercy while people Grace knew and loved took her life. As they stuffed the girl and her friend's body in the back room, her husband and one of the other men went out to dig graves. Finding people and giving them to the angels was one thing; killing was something entirely different. Her tears had long ceased, but she was still shaking from the day's events.

The door of the church swung open and when Grace noticed the form of the angel, Idarah, she stood to full attention. It was curious. Grace always thought angels would appear as forms of celestial light, not just like any other human, walking on Earth. Even the one time she had seen Michael, before he had given Idarah the task of helping them, he had come to them in the form of a woman. The only sign of his angelic nature being the flash of wings and shine of blue eyes.

Idarah was accompanied by two others that Grace had seen before. They were Idarah's helpers, but they were emotionless beings whose only purpose was to do as they were told. Just looking at them made Grace's skin want to crawl off. She watched their blank faces and wondered how someone or something became like that.

The creatures who had entered the church with Idarah were dragging two bodies across the nave: a middle-aged man and a younger man. Grace didn't know them, but she certainly hoped they hadn't been brought here to be killed.

Grace bowed to the angel. "Your Holiness, what may I do for you?" 

"Bring these two to separate rooms. Get someone to tie them up," he spoke bluntly, like always. Sharp and cold, nothing like Grace thought an Angel of the Lord would sound like.

Grace turned to one of the hallways, gesturing for the creatures to follow with their cargo.

***

Grace stared into her bible, but she had read the same verse three times and still hadn't taken in its meaning. She was sitting in one of the back storerooms. All the chairs, boxes, and other items had been pushed to the side to make room for the bodies. The man that Idarah had brought had been tied to the post in the center of the room, using the old chains that had been left there. Next to him lay one of the dead bodies, the young woman. The boy had already been buried, but apparently, graves took a long time to dig, so the other was just waiting there for her six-foot hole.

Grace looked away from the body, trying to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach. She stared back down at her bible, trying to make out the words in the gloomy light from the one window of the storeroom.

“Where’s Jack?”

Grace turned to the man who was now awake. She swallowed and looked to the floor, so she didn't have to look at the girl's dead body. "I don't know who that is." 

After a moment, he spoke again, "You're avoiding looking at her." It wasn't mocking or harsh as Grace expected from a demon; he just stated it as a curious fact. She turned away from him again. "Yet, you killed her," he continued, "What are you?" 

Grace closed her eyes, wishing Jakob and Matt would get back and relieve her from watching over this beast. "I didn't kill her." Grace wasn't sure if she said it for herself or the man. "If I- If I had known…" 

"You're just a person, aren't you? Human. Either that or you're one hell of an actress. Listen, the kid who was brought in with me, where is he?" 

"You're a devil," Grace answered, "A demon. There is nothing I should say to you." 

The man huffed. "No, I'm not. I'm just a man—a person, like you. And the only reason I'm here is because Michael- the one you're working for, right? He took me and tortured me, threatened the people I care about, and has begun killing them." 

Grace shook her head, these were lies. "Then you must deserve it. Michael is an angel, he works for God, he is good." 

Grace heard him take a deep breath. "What's your name?" 

"What?" She looked back at him. He seemed so sincere. Nothing like the inherently evil creature Michael and Idarah told her they were capturing. 

“Mine’s Dean.”

She swallowed and looked around. He truly didn't seem like a demon, just a person. Someone you would meet in the grocery store or some other normal place. She answered softly, "Grace." 

"Grace, you know this is wrong. You really think this is God's work? Murdering people? Kidnapping them?" 

Grace shook her head again. He had hit her doubts perfectly. "This is blasphemy." 

"No, Grace. This is right. Michael doesn't work for God." 

Grace shook her head again. This was wrong. This was the fall. This was where everything she feared was about to break through. The doubts that had been piled on the moment Idarah told them to kill the girl and her friend. The way she watched her husband stare into the girl's eyes and shoot her.

"In fact, if Michael found God, he'd run him through. But I get it. That's what Michael does. He makes you believe that he's gonna help you, save you, and then he turns against you, uses you. I know." 

"Maggie, the girl you killed, was a good person. She spent her life helping others, saving them. If you don't help me now, a lot more people like Maggie are gonna be killed. And a lot more people are gonna be used and tricked by Michael. Please, I gotta get out of here." He sounded desperate. He sounded genuine. Either that, or he was 'one hell of an actor'.

Grace opened her mouth to speak, but the door next to her opened. Grace looked up to see her husband enter. He flashed a grin to her. He looked… satisfied.

"Came for the other one," he said.

Grace looked down and nodded.

"He's awake," Jakob noted.

"Yes. I will sit here and watch him until Idarah comes back." 

Jakob walked around Grace, over to the body of the dead girl, Maggie, Dean had called her. He bent to lift her. Dean lifted his leg and slammed it into Jakob's face, making him stumble over the dead body.

Grace was on her feet. She ran to her husband's side. He looked up. His face was red, his nose bleeding. "You bastard." He struck at Dean.

“Jakob!”

"Oh, so now I gotta speak properly to a demon now too?" 

"I'm not a demon, you're just an idiot." Dean had a smug grin on his face.

"Oh well, we're gonna rip you apart, buddy, just like we did your malicious little friends." 

"Blood-thirsty too, are ya? Wow, Michael really knows how to pick 'em." 

Jakob pulled the dead girl up and threw her bloody body over his shoulder. "You're gonna get what's coming to ya, buddy, just watch." He turned to Grace. "I'll be back in a while, Grace. Don't worry." Then, he left.

Grace sighed.

"Well, he's a dick," Dean muttered. "Come on, Grace. That man is a killer. You've never taken anyone's life, have you?" 

"No," Grace stated, ignoring the fact that he had just called her husband a dick and a killer.

"You gotta help me, Grace. You can save more people, good people." 

"People who we are told are evil, demons, and devils." 

"We're not, we're just like you. Look into my eyes, Grace. I'm not- I'm not a monster." 

Grace looked at the man. There was something about him; he had to be telling the truth. She looked back at the door. Then again, that's what demons did. They took your doubt and twisted you away from God, from the good. She closed her eyes. Any other time, she would be on her knees, praying for God's guidance. Now, it was just her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might not be able to post next week. We'll see, but I just wanted to put a head's up in case.


	21. Hunting Hunters

_Nineteen days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

Castiel walked down one of the halls of Michael's house. Surprisingly, it was easy to find. Some of the locals had seen a man matching Dean's description going into the house a couple of weeks ago. From there, Sam and him scoped it out before entering the house.

Cas had sensed an angel inside, but with only one, they figured they could still get in and get Rosa. Cas made his way down the narrow and empty halls. The house was mostly empty; any furniture there was had white sheets tossed over it.

"I can sense you, Castiel. Just as you can sense me." The angel, Selanthiel, turned down the hall. His vessel was a middle-aged man with light skin and short dark hair. Cas knew that it was the only vessel he had ever had, procured after the Great Fall, and kept ever since. Cas clenched his fingers tighter on his blade. "Please, I do not wish to fight. Enough of our brothers and sisters are dead, are they not?" 

"Yes," Cas agreed, "So let me take the prophet, and we won't have a problem." 

"You know I cannot do that. Be reasonable, Castiel. Michael will be - has already been - our savior." 

Castiel shook his head.

"But you have been blinded by those humans, haven't you?" He asked sorrowfully.

"I'm sorry, Selanthiel, but Michael will take and take and then leave this world as a shell of what it was. You did not see what he did to his previous world; it was a wasteland." 

"This will be different. He will return us to our glory, Castiel. Don't you remember what that was like?" 

Cas lifted his blade. "I can't let that happen. I am sorry, Selanthiel." 

Selanthiel hung his head. Then slipped his angel blade down his jacket sleeve and lifted it.

Castiel swung. Selanthiel dodged the blade, lifting his own back in defense. Cas caught it with his own. Selanthiel's fist hit Cas's stomach, causing him to stagger back.

"That's enough," the voice rang from behind them.

Cas looked behind Selanthiel. His opponent turned to look as well. Sam was standing there, pointing his gun at the angel.

"Angel-killing bullets," he informed Selanthiel. Then he looked to Cas. "I thought the plan was to talk?" 

Cas stood up straight, pulling the angel cuffs out of his coat. "As long as no more angels die, it doesn't matter what I persuade him of. At least I provided a distraction," he answered, securing the cuffs around Selanthiel's wrists.

They left the angel in the hall and continued moving towards where Selanthiel had come from.

"There's no one else here, Cas," Sam informed Cas as they headed towards the door at the end of the hall. Presumably, the same one Selanthiel had been guarding. "Doesn't this seem too easy to you? I mean, where are Michael's minions? Where are any other reinforcements?" 

"Perhaps he's short-staffed?" 

"Yeah," Sam said as he swallowed hard.

Sam placed his hand on the door handle, pushing it down and swinging it open. Unlike the rest of the house, the room inside was nice and spacious, with expensive furniture in black and gold.

Sam stepped inside. An object came swinging out from behind the open door, hitting Sam in the shoulder. The youngest Winchester staggered forward.

"What the fuck?" He muttered, rubbing his shoulder.

Cas lifted his blade as the door swung open more to reveal the young woman, Rosa Sanchez, with what Cas could now see was a candlestick in her hands. She turned to Cas, lifting her makeshift weapon. Cas put up his hands.

"We're not here to hurt you. We came to help," Cas tried to explain

She stared at him with her brown eyes, as if judging if he was too big to hit a couple of times and slip pass. "Where's the man who guards this door?" 

"In the hallway," Sam said from behind, "Cuffed." 

Rosa looked back to Sam. "Who are you? The police?" 

"It doesn't matter," Cas interrupted, "We have to go. Michael's probably already on his way." 

The girl's eyes widened. She lightly dropped the big, wooden candlestick to the ground. "Let's go then." 

***

Dean rubbed at his arms where they had been chained to the wooden support beam. "Thanks," he muttered to Grace. She was young, maybe mid-twenties, with a golden complexion and blonde hair tied back. She held herself with anxiousness. Which made sense considering she just freed a man who she had been told was a demon. "You, uh, you know where they put my weapons?" 

She looked up to him with a flat and unsatisfactory face that reminded Dean of one of the many scolding faces he had received from teachers growing up.

“Right. Okay, then. Uh, what about Jack?" 

"Come on." She turned to leave. As she opened the door, she said, "And in the good Lord's name, please be quiet." 

Dean wasn't sure where they were, but there was a sitting area outside of the storeroom he had been locked in. Grace turned right, and he followed _quietly_.

She opened a door, then another, and Dean began to doubt if he was right about her. He could only hope that she had a good heart and wasn't just screwing him over. She turned again, opening up another door. She stayed a moment longer than she had at the other doors. Dean tightened his hands into fists, wishing he had at least one weapon.

"In here," Grace said in a hushed tone, opening up the door wider.

Dean side-stepped passed Grace and stepped into the room. His shoulders dropped the tension he hadn't known he was holding when he saw Jack there, tied to a chair and gagged.

"Hey there, kid." Dean pulled the dish-rag gag from his mouth.

"Dean," Jack said softly.

"Guess you were right, shoulda stayed home." Dean cracked a half-smile, staring down at the giant knot that held Jack tied to the chair. He turned to Grace. "You got a knife or something to cut the ropes?" 

“What? No.”

“Great.” Dean began looking around. There were chairs folded in the corner. God, how many chairs did a place need? But nothing sharp. "Dammit. Okay, I'll have to go find something. Sit tight, Jack." 

“No-” Jack pulled at his ropes.

"Jack, it's okay. I'll be right back." 

***

Sam pushed the keys into the Impala's ignition, starting her up with a purr.

"Okay, who are you people?" Rosa asked again from the back seat.

"I told you, we're here to help," Sam explained while he pulled the car down the dirt drive.

"I have already been kidnapped and held hostage for months, so how about you tell me who you are, and what's going on, and who those guys were who took me!" 

"It's complicated, Rosa," Sam said. He didn't need the girl freaking out and running for it the first chance she got.

"Angels," Cas spoke, staring straight out the front window.

“Cas!”

"What!?" The prophet asked from the back.

"The archangel, Michael, and the angel, Selanthiel, specifically," Cas continued, Sam rolled his eyes in utter frustration.

“No, that’s- what?”

"We're not crazy, Rosa. We're telling the truth. Come on, you must've seen something weird, known something about them was not right?" Sam insisted.

"Well, uh- but angels, they're good. They're God's warriors. They don't kidnap people?" She asked rather calmly.

Sam was about to speak as the Impala's headlights came across a woman standing in the middle of the road. "Holy shit!" Sam slammed on the breaks, coming to a stop right in front of the figure.

***

Dean finally found his weapons lying unguarded in the nave. Well, most of his weapons, the angel blades were nowhere to be found. He picked up his clip and slipped it into his gun with a smile.

"You're not leaving, Dean." 

Dean rolled his eyes. "Shit," he whispered under his breath and then turned around with his gun pointed. It was dark inside the church, but he could clearly see Idarah standing there with the silhouette of an angel blade in his hand. "How 'bout you call up the boss then?" 

"How about you drop the gun? After all, it won't hurt me." Idarah gestured behind him. "Bring them in." Jack and Grace were escorted in from the hall, Grace by the man he had seen earlier at gunpoint, and Jack by another man holding his knife against him. Idarah smiled. "Went back to speak with Jack and found lovely Grace there. Disappointing, Michael saw real potential in you," the angel said to Grace, "But you were always too weak, weren't you? Kill her, Jakob." 

The man holding Grace, Jakob, looked at Idarah with horror sculpting his face. "What?" 

“Your wife has conspired and helped _demons_. Kill her.”

Jakob looked out fearfully for a moment, but Dean had seen it in him in their earlier encounter; he was just crazy enough to do it.

Dean swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and relaxed as he pulled the trigger of his gun. It took less than a second for the bullet to hit Jakob in the forehead. His body fell to the floor with a dull thump. Grace jumped back, hands covering her mouth.

Idarah glared at Dean. "Must admit, I wasn't expecting that. Very bold of you, Dean Winchester. But you won't try something like that with the boy. He's your family. And it's not like you can control Matthew here like you did Michael's creatures." 

Dean looked around. Grace was crying and shaking softly. Jack still had his hands tied behind his back, his mouth had been re-gagged, and the man, Matthew, held his knife against his throat, his stature full of a crazy, desperate want to succeed in Idarah's mission for him. Despite that, Dean didn't want to admit that Idarah was right. The man was too close to Jack to try to shoot him, and Dean wasn't prepared to hit Jack on accident.

"Fine," Dean said, "Leave the kid, take me." 

Jack shouted something unidentifiable behind his gag.

Idarah smiled, and it was genuine. "Your loyalty is admirable, Winchester. Drop your gun then." 

“Let Jack go.”

"No, not until you're chained back up. If I let him go now, he'll run to your brother or some friend and bring an army back. Drop the gun." 

A gunshot struck through the church, leaving Dean disoriented for a moment. Dean stared nonplussed at Grace, who was standing in the corner, Jakob's gun in her hand, pointed at Matt, who was now on the floor. She turned the gun on Idarah.

"I am not weak. And you are _not_ an angel." 

Idarah looked from Grace to Dean as Jack fetched Matt's knife to free himself from his restraints.

"You can't shoot me," Idarah said softly, "It won't do anything." 

"Yeah, we'll improvise." 

Idarah smiled as Dean took a step closer. He lifted his angel blade. "Oh, Dean. The things you don't know." 

"Yeah, you know what I do know? You brought a knife to a gunfight." 

"Michael's going to reclaim you," he continued, "Maybe not tonight, apparently he can't be bothered to show up, but eventually, he will take you back. In the meantime, he is going to kill all those you care about. All those hunters you're affiliated with, dead. Even Jack here, after all, he does already have his hooks into him… I'd give up while you're ahead." 

Dean held his gun steady. It might not hurt him, but if he could get close enough, he might be able to wrestle his blade away and kill him. Instead, the angel turned and took off running down the back hall.

Dean took off after him, hearing the echo of Jack and possibly Grace running after them both.

The halls of the church were dark now. Dean followed the vague shadow of Idarah down the hall. Until he snuck into one of the rooms, Dean slowed his steps, lifted his gun, and walked inside the room like a snake getting prepared to strike its prey.

Idarah stood inside, facing the door, his hand was on the shoulder of a woman. Dean quickly recognized her flat stare. She was undoubtedly one of Michael's minions.

"Running away to those stronger than you?" Dean mocked.

"There is a difference between cowardice and intelligence, Winchester. Every soldier knows where not to fight." He stood there with a smug look cut into his meat-suit's face. "Now doesn't matter after all. In the end, Michael will reign again." Idarah looked up to the creature. "Go," was his simple command.

Dean pulled the trigger of his gun. It was a useless decision, but fire burned in his chest and screamed at him to do something. The angel and Michael's creature were gone before the bullet could strike them. 

Dean clenched his jaw and exhaled the adrenaline, and more importantly, the anger. He turned around to both Grace and Jack. Jack held Matt's knife in his hand and stood with a combination of wide-eyed shock and furrowed brow concern. Grace, who was still holding her husband's gun, seemed to understand that the danger had passed and she had begun weeping again.

"You- you should go," Grace said between sobs. "They'll be others who come, and they'll try and kill you." 

Dean latched the safety on his gun. "You're coming with us." 

“No.”

"They'll try to kill you too-" 

"And I will go, but not with you." 

Dean nodded, understanding. Best to stay far away from Winchesters.

Dean gestured for Jack to help gather their weapons. They went back to the nave and picked up their things. Grace stood by the altar and watched them in silence, her crying having turned inaudible. It took less than five minutes to gather everything and put the church in their rearview mirror. 

Only then did Dean turn on Jack. "'Michael's got his hooks in you'? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" 

Jack stared down at the floor and whispered, "I screwed up, Dean." 

***

Sam took a long breath. "Stay in the car, Rosa, no matter what happens." 

"Yeah, sure," she answered.

Sam clambered out of the Impala, staying close to the door.

“Sam. Castiel." The woman said, glowing in the golden headlights of the Impala. "This is an unfortunate turn of events, seeing as I have somewhere to be. Which is with your brother, of course." The woman smiled in the headlights. "Were you aware he's in Oklahoma? Taken by some of my more, well, dim-witted agents." 

"Wow, you came all the way out here to talk about Dean?" Sam yammered, fiddling with a bottle of holy oil behind his back.

Michael smiled. "So, you didn't know?" 

"It doesn't matter. We're taking Rosa, and we're leaving. And you aren't getting her or Dean, ever." 

"We'll see about that." He took a step forward.

Sam chucked the bottle at Michael. The moment it hit him, he erupted in flames. "Car, now!" Sam yelled.

Sam swept back in, pushed the car into drive and slammed on the gas pedal. The car hit the flaming Michael with a loud thump as Sam put the pedal flat to the floor and fled as fast as he could down the road.

Rosa gave a tiny yelp in the back. "You just set that woman on fire," she whispered.

“Angel,” Cas corrected.

Rosa stared at him in horror. Sam ignored their exchange and dialed his phone while eyeing the dark road in front of him. It dialed once before it was picked up. "Dean, where the hell are you, and if you don't say safe and sound in your goddamn room, I'm gonna put you six feet under myself." 

"Then you're gonna want to start digging," Dean announced over the phone.

Sam grumbled.

"Stop whining, Sam. We're heading home. Everyone's... fine." He had a hint of irritation in his voice. "What about Rosa?" 

"We got her, bringing her back to the Bunker. We also left Michael as a pile of charcoal, so hopefully, that'll stop him from catching up with us." 

"You ran into Michael?" 

"Yeah. Not that long of a story. Saw him, lit him on fire, drove away." 

“Great. Well, speaking of Michael, he's going after hunters, Sam." He took a deep breath over the phone. "Maggie's dead, along with Ian." 

Sam felt a numbness fall over him. Dean continued to talk, saying something about leaving their bodies behind, but there was a ringing that had taken over Sam's ears, and he didn't entirely process what Dean was talking about. He bit at his lip. "Call Mom, tell her to make sure they know what Michael's doing, and make sure they go back to the Bunker, stat." 

"Yeah. I, uh, I'll talk to you later, I guess." 

Sam hung up the phone and dropped it on the Impala's seat, breathing in deep, trying to stop that fearful ache that was screaming in his chest. They all died eventually. Even the best of them...

"So, angels are real and evil apparently?" Rosa was saying from the back seat.

"Evil is perhaps an exaggeration, but many of them are ambitious..." Cas explained.

"And Michael? The Archangel, Michael? He kidnapped me because?" 

"We're not entirely sure, but we think it's because you're a prophet." 

“What?”

"It doesn't really matter, Rosa," Sam cut in, "The point is, we're going to take you to a place where they can't find you, you'll be safe there." 

“No.”

Sam looked back at her in slightly irritated surprise.

"I want to go home. I want to see my sister, my parents, my abuela: my family! They have no idea what happened to me. I'm not a part of your crazy I-don't-even-know with angels and _Michael_ and prophets." 

"But you are. And Michael won't just stop. He will come for you and your family. Is that what you want? Michael's a murderer, Rosa. And he will kill them all. I can't make you come with us, but I promise you, we'll keep you safe. Your choice." 

Sam heard the girl slam against the Impala's back seat in silent agreement as the Impala continued to make its way through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look actually finished this chapter in time to post! Still feel like there's something weird, maybe flat, about it, I might come back to it later and see what I can do.


	22. The Branded

__

_Twenty days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

Dean stared down at the old piece of parchment. It felt so familiar, like a memory from a dream that he could only scarcely get at. Any concern he had for Jack was swept away by the anger thriving inside him as he stared down at the ink scribbled on the paper.

"What language is this?" He asked slowly, holding on to the piece of paper with a death grip, as he tried to restrain himself from screaming at the kid.

"What do you mean?" Jack asked. Dean looked up to the white-faced Nephilim. They were in Jack's bedroom, locked away from the profusion of hunters congregating into the Bunker's Crow's Nest. "It's Enochian," Jack continued.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "This is not Enochian." 

Jack pulled the paper from Dean, brow furrowing with apprehension. "But I researched it. It is an Enochian spell to reflect angelic powers." 

Dean closed his eyes, focusing on the air entering his lungs as a last attempt to keep the anger from boiling over. "Jack, why the hell did you trust Kris?" He asked calmly. "How many times did we say she was screwing us over?" 

"I-" Jack's eyes were glazed over with the onset of tears. "I thought I could use her... to help us. I- I found Greg and Claire-" 

"Yeah, and we have no idea what that has done to you!" Dean howled, but it was only a slight slip of the anger that was becoming all-encompassing.

Jack looked up at Dean with big innocent eyes. "I'm sorry, Dean." 

Dean took another deep breath. If he had been in Jack's position as a kid, John would have never stopped yelling at him. He would have given him glares for a week and thrown out intermediate comments on his stupidity. From experience, Dean knew that no matter how angry he was at Jack, no matter what he said or did to him, Jack was nine times more pissed with himself.

The thought calmed Dean for a moment, but he was only truly saved from his glutinous anger by a ping in his pocket: a text from Sam, informing him that they were pulling up to the Bunker. He tossed the paper to the bed, and it landed softly on the mattress.

"Sam's here with the prophet. We'll come back to your death-spell later." Dean left the room, without looking back at the kid.

He made his way through the Bunker's quiet halls until he found himself in the War Room, flexing his knuckles at the unwelcoming crowd. It wasn't that he hated the hunters; he just didn't want them to be constantly around, sticking their noses into his stuff, putting his kitchen utensils away in the wrong places, and standing in the shadows eyeing him suspiciously. Couldn't they leave him alone?

Thankfully today, most of the hunters were too busy sharpening weapons or talking to each other to pay attention to Dean. This time as Dean looked at them, a thread of guilt weaved itself further inside. Dean had seen Maggie's dead eyes, her blood covering her body. He had left her and Ian - hunters - behind without a proper send-off and in the grips of the enemy.

No one here even knew they were dead. Sam would deal with that, but Dean would still carry the guilt, questioning how many lives could have been spared if he had not said that three-letter word to Michael. God, Sam. Sam must be torn apart by the hunters' deaths.

Dean quickly pushed away those thoughts before they could pull him under, and made his way through the crowd. The Bunker's door opened with its usual rusted eek. Sam and Cas entered with a young woman, Rosa, the prophet. Her eyes were wide, staring at the horde of people below and their accumulation of weapons. Her head turned to look at Dean, where her mouth fell, and her eyes became clouded with shock.

The prophet looked slowly up to Sam, then over to Cas, horror painting her eyes. Her lip quivered with anger. In a flash, her elbow slammed straight back into Sam's lower stomach, causing him to double over. She spun around and ran back towards the exit. Cas followed quickly after.

Dean took the stairs two at a time before looking into the hatch behind the Bunker's front door. Cas had taken the prophet's arm, though she was struggling against him.

"Let go! I should have never trusted you!" 

"Rosa," Cas answered softly, "We are not going to hurt you." 

"Tell that to him." Rosa looked into Dean's eyes. Her's were like drying lava, black and dark, but still flowing with a fire that took down whatever it wanted.

"He's not Michael," Sam said from behind Dean.

She looked at Sam for a moment, then back to Dean, studying him. She pulled her wrist from Cas and folded her arms. "Explain," she demanded.

"Angels can only walk on Earth with a vessel, a possessed human," Cas answered calmly. Dean was surprised by the trust showing through her simmering eyes. "Dean was possessed by Michael when you saw him. That woman we hit, she is possessed by Michael now." 

"Angels possess people?" She asked slowly, but not disbelievingly. 

"Yes. Dean will not hurt you. He wants to kill Michael like the rest of us." 

Dean looked back at Sam and whispered, "What does he mean 'hit'?" 

Sam gave his brother his puppy dog eyes. The ones that he used to do when he was a kid and had done something Dean wouldn't like, trying to prove he was too innocent to be mad at. 

"You did not hit Michael with Baby." 

Sam gave an awkward apologetic smile.

Dean swallowed the irritation and turned back to Rosa. "Okay, nice to meet you," he snippily butted in, "Glad we cleared up the whole 'I'm not an evil angel anymore' thing. Cas, Sam, before you have your little meeting, we should talk." Dean gave the girl a half-smile and turned around, only then coming to the realization that the hunters had shut up and were staring at them like they were the first act of some enticing drama. He swallowed that anger, too, and marched down the stairs. 

***

"Bobby!" Mary called as she entered the Bunker. The place was crowded with lackluster hunters slumped in chairs or against walls.

Bobby looked over at her, annoyance filling his face; granted, that was par for the older hunter.

"Sam told me to come home. You know what's going on?" 

"Hmph, ask your boy that. Apparently, he's having a super-secret meeting with his brother before he could bother with us," Bobby explained grumpily.

"You know where they are?" 

Bobby pointed to one of the Bunker's halls. "Somewhere that way. Hopefully, they let ya into their club." 

Mary turned to leave but looked back to Bobby first. "Sam and Dean, they've done a lot for you and your people. You have some wild disagreement with how Sam runs things, but don't forget who brought you here." 

"Yeah, your boys helped us, Mary, but then they came and let Michael take over this universe too, excuse me if I'm not lining up to kiss their asses." 

Mary pursed her lips in irritation and headed off down the hall. She stopped at Dean's door to knock, but with no answer, she continued down the hall towards Jack's. 

"Who is it?" Sam called when Mary knocked.

"It's just me." She opened the door, finding Sam, Dean, Cas, and Jack inside. Her youngest boy stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips, looking worried. Dean had his arms folded in a closed-off position, Jack was standing across from him, looking like he wanted to shrink, and Cas stood, looking down at a piece of paper. "What's going on?" 

Sam looked to her, his hazel eyes heavy with sorrow. "Jack was given a spell by Kris, one that he used. Apparently, it has some connection to Michael." 

Mary looked over to Jack, but he avoided looking at her. "What does the spell do?" 

"No clue, it's in some language none of us know, although Jack says it's Enochian to him." 

"We think maybe it was made to look that way to Jack," Dean explained, his voice stiff and emotionless.

"What do we do?" Mary asked.

"Research, I guess." Sam shrugged listlessly. "Mom, would you mind calming down the crowd out there? I know they've been waiting. I'll be out in a second." 

"What about Billie's spell?" Dean asked.

“What about it?”

“Rosa. Prophet. Finishing it!" 

Sam sighed.

"Listen, we don't need you to do anything, we can-" 

"No, we'll figure out the spell, and then I'll talk to the hunters." 

Everyone nodded. Mary looked back to the dwindling Jack. She swallowed hard. "Jack, this isn't your fault." 

The kid looked up at her with dark eyes. She knew what he could be like with guilt. She had watched him beat himself up around trying to save the AU hunters and making the wrong decisions.

"A demon tricked you, it happens to the best of us. We'll figure all this out. It'll be okay." 

Jack gave a baby nod. Mary looked to each of the boys in the room before heading out to convince the gathering impatient hunters to hang tight.

***

Of all the people Rosa had met on her crazy journey after being kidnapped, the read-haired witch was certainly the best. She could literally do magic from thin air, and she held herself like a queen that no one could ever cut down.

Rosa didn't like the weird underground fortress. It was full of strange people who Rosa had the urge to punch and quickly run away from. People her abuela would have told her to steer clear of growing up. Yet, overall, Rosa supposed it could be much worse. At least she was no longer with the people who had kidnapped her. At least when she was kidnapped, no one hurt her. They just made her translate weird languages.

Rosa internally sighed. Was it hard to believe that angels were real? Maybe a month ago it would've been, at least in the capacity they told her they existed. Now, that seemed pretty reasonable, even expected. How much had Michael and Selanthiel made her read about angels? She had perhaps guessed what was going on before Sam and Cas gave her the confirmation.

Rosa placed the teacup that Rowena had given her back on the table. She was glad to be away from the staring eyes of the burly people in the next room. Glad to be in the simple storeroom with the warmth of the tea and the scent of anise. Although her peaceful environment was then interrupted by the door banging open.

Rosa froze, looking at the man. She believed that he was no longer Michael, he didn't even stand the same as the angel did, but that didn't mean that she was comfortable being around him. Thankfully, he was followed by Sam and Cas.

"Rosa, are you okay?" Cas asked kindly. She liked Cas too. He was genuine. Sam seemed to be moving at a pace faster than anyone to catch up with, but Cas was caring enough to slow down, explain, and make sure everything was okay.

She nodded.

Rowena walked down one of the halls between the shelves. "I was just telling the wee prophet of my time with Mick Jagger." 

"What about the spell?" Dean asked, ignoring Rowena's playful comment. 

"I was waiting for you boys on that." 

“Spell?” Rosa questioned, looking from the boys to the witch.

"Aye," Rowena said, pulling a piece of parchment from the stack of files on the table. She placed the paper in front of Rosa. "You know what this is?" 

Rosa didn't look down at the paper. "No." 

“No?” Dean asked.

"You're telling me you saved me from the people who kidnapped me just to have me translate stuff for you too?" 

"What do you mean, 'translate stuff for you too'?" Sam questioned.

"That's what Michael wanted me to do." 

All of the boy's eyes widened. "He had you translate what?" Sam asked anxiously.

"Some rock, it talked about angels and Heaven and stuff." 

"A rock? Like a stone tablet?" Sam inquired very slowly.

"Yeah, like written in cuneiform or something." 

Sam looked like the whole world had stopped in front of him. He looked back to Cas. "I thought the angel tablet was destroyed? I thought you destroyed it?" 

Cas was looking equally terrified. "I did, it smashed to pieces-" 

"It was in pieces," Rosa informed them, "When Michael gave it to me, he made me put it back together, and even then there were still some parts missing." 

"So Michael has the angel tablet?" Dean sounded stunned. "You think he's using it like Metatron did to power himself up? That's how he made his creatures?" 

"I thought Metatron was the only person who could do that since he wrote the tablets?" Sam responded.

"I don't know," Cas admitted.

Dean grumbled.

Rosa was starting to feel overly uncomfortable.

"What did he want from the tablet? Where is it now?" Dean looked dead into Rosa's eyes, sending an unpleasant chill down her back. 

"I don't really know what he wanted. Selanthiel seemed really interested in what I found in its section on the creation of angels…" Dean closed his eyes with a sharp inhale. "I suppose the tablet is still in the house; I was still translating it when you came for me." 

"Well, wonderful." Rowena sipped on her tea. "I thought we were here for the spell?" 

The boys glared at her, she smiled pleasantly. 

"Fine, what do you know of it?" Dean asked, turning his dagger-like eyes back to Rosa.

"It will help stop Michael if you could read it, Rosa," Cas explained smoothly.

Rosa sighed and looked down at the paper. She stared at it for a moment. "I know this." 

"Yeah, we were hoping," Dean said bluntly, "Do you know the rest of it is the question." 

Rosa sighed. Picking at the back of her memories, she began writing out what she could remember from the stone.

***

It took another hour for Rosa and Rowena to piece together what they needed. Sam had eventually left to speak with the hunters. After writing out the rest of the spell, Cas left for a moment to show Rosa to one of the spare rooms. Now it was just Rowena, Dean, and Cas in the room, watching Rowena pour together ingredients.

Cas watched Rowena carefully as she put her spell together, mumbling under her breath. Dean had gone from swiping through his phone to pacing around the room and then sitting in the chair, tapping lightly on its armrest.

At last, Rowena looked down from the bowl of ingredients she was mixing for the spell. She scribbled something on a piece of paper and looked up at Cas. "Ready to go, boys." She smiled.

Dean smiled back with a glimmer of hope in his eye.

Rowena turned to Dean. "Now, I will be casting Billie's spell at the same time as mine-" 

"What?" Cas questioned as concern filled him.

She turned to him. "I have developed a spell to find your weapon, however, like any tracking spell, it needs a piece of what it must find. We don't have this, but the grace inside Dean was significantly affected by the weapon's magic, so I am hoping that I can pull some signature off it to find the weapon. I will do this immediately after casting Billie's spell so I can use some of the grace it already requires." 

"That does not sound safe, Rowena." 

"C'mon, Cas. I can handle it. Plus, then we will be that much closer to murdering the Archangel," Dean begged.

Cas sighed heavily. "We should get Sam." 

"Ugh, we're not sending off a nuke here, Cas. Sam's busy, let's get this done." 

"Well, then." Rowena smiled. "Shirt off." 

“Excuse me?”

"The symbol, it goes on your chest. A place where Michael can't simply cut it off." 

Dean grumbled, considered Rowena's ask, and then obediently pulled his shirt over his head. Rowena lifted a paintbrush out of the goopy bowl of ingredients she had been mixing. 

"What is that?" Dean asked, "It smells awful." 

"You probably don't want to know, dear. But it's exactly what the spell called for." 

Dean shriveled his upper lip in moderate disgust. 

When the black substance had been painted in the shape of the sigil across Dean's chest, Rowena stepped away and placed the bowl back on the table. Dean looked up at her with big eyes. Cas felt his stomach clench, wondering how bad the magic was going to hurt Dean because there was no way this was all going to go down smoothly.

Rowena closed her eyes and began speaking in a harsh tongue. Dean's eyes closed as well. His lip quivered. Slowly the black sigil began to burn orange and then red hot. Dean leaned forward. His fingers dug into the armrests of the Bunker's chair. The scream that bellowed from his mouth was dull and short.

Cas put his hand on his shoulder, Dean screamed again.

“Rowena!” Cas looked up to the witch, but her eyes were closed. She continued her chanting, which had now turned to Latin. The burning had stopped. Where the sigil had been painted was now wet, white flesh. "Dean, are you alright?" 

Dean didn't answer. His eyes were still sewed shut; his lips still quivering. He let out a stiff breath.

Rowena's mouth closed and her eyes opened, revealing the glowing purple. She smiled. Castiel glared at her. Her smile slipped from her lips as she noticed her victim.

"What did you do?" Cas sneered.

"I did the spell as it was written," she defended.

Cas stood fully, gritting his teeth.

Dean lightly caught the sleeve of the angel's coat. "Cas, I'm okay," he whispered.

"You are not okay, Dean." Dean laid back against the chair. Cas, remembering himself, lifted his arm to Dean's forehead.

"Heal him, and the magic no longer works," Rowena warned, "The sigil prevents angels from entering, but it must continue to be on his body." 

"I am not leaving him with third-degree burns." 

"Cas-" Dean looked up at him, his eyes were wet and tired. "I'm really okay. They're just burns. I've had worse." 

Cas shook his head. "I'm going to get Sam." 

Cas didn't look back to see Dean's protesting face. Instead, he left the room, letting the door slam, and hurriedly made his way down the Bunker's hall.


	23. Those Who Fall with You and Those Who Fall Before

_Twenty days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

“So, you’re saying that Michael and his creepy ass minions are hunting us now?” A hunter asked from the back.

Sam nodded stiffly.

“I heard your brother was getting some magic that protects him from Michael. Why can’t we have that?” A man called from the back. Sam squinted through the crowd but couldn’t figure out who had called. The other hunters yelled in agreement.

“That spell needs a power source-” Sam began to explain into the cacophony of voices. They were all huddled in the Bunker’s Crow’s Nest. Most of the Hunter’s were accounted for. The ones that were still on the road would either be informed by other hunters or by text.

From the moment Sam entered, he could feel the tension. The hunters were not content with having to wait for him for so long. They gave him tired scowls as he stood on the steps to the library, Mary next to him, and began telling them what was happening, including the deaths of two of their own.

“We want protection too!” Another hunter yelled over Sam’s attempt to talk. That was when their little meeting fell to shit. Everyone started yelling, most of them chewing Sam out for being a lousy leader.

Sam bit down hard on his lip, wishing he could melt into the floor, or better yet, stop all their uneasiness. Meanwhile, his mind was still with Rowena, Cas, and Dean in the backroom, thinking about spells and archangels. Mary was by Sam’s side, trying to calm people down, but her efforts seemed meaningless. Sam’s eyes fell on Bobby in the back. He wasn’t yelling, but he wasn’t telling people to cram it either. He might not be their Bobby, but it still hurt Sam to see him so disapproving.

“Hey, idiots!” Charlie, the other world Charlie, stepped up next to Sam. “Shut your traps and let the man speak!” Everyone fell silent, watching the red-haired hunter. She smiled at Sam.

Sam cleared his throat. “Like I was saying, the spell needs a power source. You would all have to have angelic grace inside you, and a lot of it, in order for the spell to work. So I am hoping we can get some teams to start, uh-” They were all staring at him, wide-eyed. Sam suddenly felt very self-conscious. Did he really deserve any of their loyalty? After all, Maggie and Ian were dead, he couldn’t stop that, he couldn’t help them.

“Sam?” Mary whispered up to him.

“Uh, I think we should set up teams to try and figure out what we can about Michael and his minions. Any hunters should make sure that they are hunting in groups.” He glared at Bobby, making sure the older hunter caught his eye.

“Sam?” Cas had entered the Crow’s Nest. He looked worried and slightly disheveled.

“Cas, what’s wrong?”

Cas looked around at the group of hunters. “You should come with me.”

***

When Sam entered the storeroom, Dean was sitting in a chair wrapping bandages across his chest. Sam, however, could still see the bottom of the sigil. No, not the sigil, the burns. Deep, white burns. “God, Dean.”

“I’m fine,” his brother insisted. It wasn’t very convincing, considering he was wincing as he lightly wrapped the bandages around his entire chest.

“Can’t you heal him, Rowena?” Sam asked the witch, who was looking smaller than he had ever seen her as she cleaned up her “work station”.

Rowena rolled her eyes. “It’s just a wee burn. Besides, if you want ye’re brother free from possession, the mark can’t be messed with.”

Sam sighed.

“I’ll be fine, sheesh.” Dean pulled his shirt back over his bandaged wounds carefully and stood up, holding on to the side of the table. “Okay, uh, South Dakota?”

“What?” Sam looked quizzically at his brother.

“Rowena’s spell found that the killing-Michael weapon is in South Dakota.”

Sam wrinkled his nose with frustration. “We are not going to South Dakota.”

Dean looked at Sam with a flat face. “We have to find that weapon, Sam. No more threat of Michael possessing me, so let’s get a move on!”

“Dean, you have third-degree burns on your chest! I haven’t slept in- I don’t know how long, and you’ve been up for days! We still have to figure out Jack’s spell and the hunters… we need a break!”

“Sam whoever has that weapon could move, and Rowena cannot cast the spell again!”

“I’m asking for four hours minimum, Dean. Then we can hit the road,” he responded in a quieter, calmer voice. 

Dean sighed, closing his eyes and leaned further onto the table. He looked like he had aged years since Sam had last been in the room, waiting for Rowena to prepare the spell. There were bags under his red eyes, and the inkling of pain stitched into his crow’s feet. He was exhausted, that was clear. Sam himself longed to press his head against his pillow and drift off. If they went off now, they would only be degraded by their exhaustion, and if they had to fight the welder for the weapon, well, it wouldn’t end well.

“Fine, but I am setting an alarm, and we are leaving in exactly four hours,” Dean submitted, pushing himself off the table and walking past Sam.

Sam nodded and swallowed as his brother passed by.

***

Sam had barely left the storeroom when he was intercepted by Charlie. She smiled at him.

“Hey, Sam. Can we talk?”

Sam pursed his lips but nodded. The last thing he wanted to do was have more people bring up his shitty leadership skills, least of all Charlie.

“I just wanted to say, the rest of the group… they do respect you, they do believe in you. They’re just scared.”

“I know. But we’re going to kill Michael, and then everything will be okay.”

“Right. Sam, Maggie and Ian, are they really dead?”

Sam felt his chest clench. He had hated telling the hunters about the loss in the first place; he didn’t want to rehash the situation. “Yes,” he whispered.

“They were good people. And Sam, me and the others, we will fight to make sure they were killed for nothing.”

“Then we better figure out how to find Michael.”

She smiled. Unlike the Charlie that Sam had known, this Charlie had haunted features. Something that was etched into them that showed how much she had seen and how much she had fought for. She looked out into the distance for a moment before saying, “Sam you’re a good leader. We’re gonna find Michael, and I swear we are gonna kick his angelic ass.”

***

Dean stood in the forest, feeling the crisp, fresh air against his face. He smiled. Not at the peaceful natural environment, but at an idea wiggling in his thoughts. Everything was beginning to fall into place.

It took Dean a moment to realize that the brilliant, vibrant, fresh green of the trees and the blinding, pastel blue of the sky peeking between them, were not being seen by him. This was Michael. And once again, Dean was not watching from an imprisoned, drowning position, but from some place far away, perhaps even more unpleasant.

Michael spread his wings. Dean felt Michael spread his wings, the extra appendages unfurling behind him. It was a strange, extremely uncomfortable feeling. The view of the forest blinked gone, and when his vision came back, he was inside a bedroom, a spacious, highly decorated bedroom. A young woman sat on a chair in front of a desk, hands tied behind her, and a black bag over her head.

“She put up a fight,” Selanthiel, the angel standing next to him, said.

Michael discarded the information. “Take it off,” was his only answer.

Selanthiel stepped forward and pulled the bag off the woman’s head. Her dark brown hair stuck with static as it parted and then fell back over her face in a disheveled way. She stared up at Michael with her fearsome dark eyes. Angry eyes, not afraid, but full of fury. Michael could take down the young prophet with a breath, but Dean didn’t doubt she would at least get one blow in.

Michael lifted his hand. Dean’s hand. It was holding a sack that Dean hadn’t registered before. He lightly placed the bag on the desk in front of the girl, letting the contents fall out—parts of a stone tablet, broken into thousands of pieces. 

“Put it back together,” Michael demanded the woman.

Her eyebrows shot up, her lips formed into a question.

“We don’t want to hurt you, Rosa. So put it back together and read it, and then you can leave. Go back to _college_ , or whatever it is you want to do with the rest of your boring human life.”

The girl slowly processed what Michael had said. Finally, she responded, “What if I refuse?”

“Then I will get your sister, and your mother and father, and all the people you have talked to, and I will rip them apart piece by piece in front of you until both of us are covered in their blood.” Michael hissed through Dean’s teeth.

Rosa gulped.

“Understood?”

Rosa gave a shaky nod.

“Selanthiel, free her and let her get to work. And Rosa, if you run the same fate as you being uncooperative will ring true. You’re here to help me. Give me what I want, and everything will work out.”

Michael turned on his heel. “Only call me when I am absolutely needed, Selanthiel.”

***

Dean stood in a park. A nice park, he had to admit, with lush trees and a trail going through and a bench looking out over the small lake. There was a figure sitting on the bench, dressed in a black coat. Other than that, there was no one around.

Dean took a step towards the man, his boot crunched on the ground. He stopped, looking up. The sound of his heavy boot made him realize that no other sounds existed in this place. Birds didn’t chirp. Wind didn’t rustle the trees. Everything was deathly silent. Dean turned back to the man; he already knew who it was going to be.

He walked to the bench and turned to look at Michael, still wearing his father’s young body.

“Lucifer loved nature, you know. Absolutely loved it. I always thought it was overrated. Needed yes, but admirable-” He tilted his head to the side as if shrugging off the idea.

“Explains why your rock was such a shithole.” Michael drew his icy eyes to Dean. “You can’t be here.”

“Hmmm, why? Because of some sigil burned into your vessel?”

Dean felt the hot anxiety flow over his body.

“I may not be able to possess you, but never forget Dean Winchester, I _own_ you. Always will. No matter what you do.”

Dean used a smile to cover up any restless fear still screaming in his mind and body. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“You, a gnat, against me, a god? How do you think that’s gonna go?”

“Why are you here, Michael?”

Michael turned his attention to the water. “Perhaps to gloat.”

“Excuse me?”

“Perhaps to just watch you suffer. To watch you flounder while parted from me.”

“You’re a dick.” Dean looked back over the water, wishing he could wake up and leave Michael to his arrogant beliefs. “What did you do to Jack?” He figured that was worth a shot.

“Finally caught up to that, did you? I thought it was quite clever. Got the idea from a friend of ours. It has served me very well. Have no fear, Dean. The nephilim will fall with you.”

Dean looked back at Michael, watching him manipulate his father’s face into a relaxed smile. Dean was going to take the angel and rip him apart. He had sworn that many times before, but now it seemed much more pertinent.

“Fear not, Dean. Soon we will be reunited, and all your fallen friends will have no consequence to you.”

***

When Dean snapped back into consciousness he felt exhaustion on him like a ton of bricks. His body ached like he had been hit by a truck, and his burnt chest stung at the edges of the sigil’s wounds, but otherwise, it felt buzzingly numb. He may have wished to awaken in his dreams, but now all he longed for was to fall back into sleep. He stared at the ceiling and closed his eyes once more, tempting the idea when a knock came from his door.

“What?” He questioned gruffly, refusing to part his eyes.

“Can I come in? It’s Sam.”

Dean signed. “Yeah.”

The door opened. Dean carefully pulled himself up against his headboard, trying to not twist his chest too much. When Dean let his eyes pull themselves open, the blinding light burned into his retinas and caught him by surprise.

“What the hell, Sam?”

His brother only stared at him. “What happened to leaving at the exact four-hour mark?”

“What?”

“It’s been ten minutes since then. I was waiting for you.”

“Oh.” Dean looked down at his watch. Sure enough, he had slept in. “Guess my alarm didn’t go off.”

“Huh.” Dean noticed his brother was carrying a handful of items before he placed them on Dean’s nightstand. “I brought water - you should hydrate - more bandages, and ibuprofen if you want it.” Dean grabbed the water, untwisted the flimsy lid, and slurped it down. His brother brought up a chair. “How you feeling?”

Dean rolled his eyes and placed the water back on the nightstand as he said, “The day no one asks me that will be the best day of my fucking life.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m fine, Sam. I’ve had a lot worse than third-degree burns. Anyway, you look worse than I probably do.” It was true, Sam’s eye bags had only seemed to have added on sixty more pounds since Dean had last seen him. His shoulders were heavy with the weight of the exhaustion he carried with him. Hell, maybe guilt too. “What happened to taking four hours to rest?”

Sam shook his head. “I had to work out some things with the hunters.”

Dean rolled his eyes once again. He wished his brother would slow down and take some time for himself. He was going to tear himself thin if he didn’t stop biting off more than he could chew. Instead, Dean answered, “Guess I’ll be driving then.”

Sam nodded. He sat there as if sitting on an uncomfortable question. “Hey, Dean?” He finally began, speaking as if he was calculating how to walk across quicksand, “The grace- how does that feel?”

Dean squinted his brow; he knew what Sam was getting at. Rowena had said Billie’s spell would draw from the grace inside him, powering it. Sure enough, this effect was noticeable. Dean had felt it from the moment Rowena had said the spell. It felt like someone was pulling his chest in two different ways, stretching it taut, like a string ready to break. He tried his best to ignore it, but the noticeability of the grace made him uncomfortable. More than before, it made him long to rip out what Michael left behind.

“Yes,” Dean finally answered, “But it doesn’t hurt.” The last thing Dean needed was his brother worrying about him more. God, he would rather bathe in fire than have that. 

Sam nodded. He looked displeased at the information. “I talked to Jody. She’s gonna see if she can help us with Michael’s weapon. And Cas is going to stay here with Jack. Try and figure out what’s going on with that.”

“Cool. Give me fifteen, and we’ll hit the road.”

Sam gave a nod of affirmation, then stood from the chair, spinning it back to its original position. He left Dean staring at his still sigil painted walls; the things now unneeded, but still not important enough to get rid of with so little time. 

***

Yet again, Dean’s eyes attempted to wander closed, longing to stare at the back of his eyelids rather than the long stretched-out road before them. Dean stared at the horizon for a moment before looking at Sam. He slept soundly with the side of his face pressed up against the pane in a way that would surely cause him to rub his neck when he awoke. The classic rock was blaring from the radio as loud as it could without waking up the youngest Winchester, but it did little to help Dean’s attention.

Finally, Dean noticed a gas station situated on the side of the road, the kind of place most people would pass either in fear or in the belief it had long ago been shut down. He pulled off, hoping to drown himself in any caffeine he could find.

His first item of business, however, was to deal with his scratchy and nearly intolerable bandaged chest. He pulled fresh bandages out of the bag in the back and headed to the restroom at the side of the building. Dean slipped his phone out of his back pocket, reading his latest text from Jody with heavy eyes. The town that Rowena had tracked the weapon to was only a few hours north of Sioux Falls, and she agreed to meet them there and do some research.

Her text was vague, explaining how she had uncovered some strange happenings in the town but that she had to do some further research.

Dean sighed and pushed open the restroom door, dropping his phone back into his pocket. The place was filthy, but not any worse than he could expect it to be, not any worse than every other decaying gas station on the back roads of America. He took to the rusted and suspiciously stained sink, splashing water on his face in an attempt to wake himself up. He pulled off his shirt, hanging it over his shoulder to be sure that it didn’t become infected with whatever unpleasantness most likely littered the ground.

He unwrapped the bandages carefully as he stifled a yawn. The burns formed a circle across his chest with an intricate symbol in the middle. They were no more than half an inch wide, but the skin was white and leathery. These would take longer to heal, and even then, they would scar. 

Hopefully, Michael would be dead soon, and Cas would heal them. Dean had forgotten what it was like to have deep wounds that had to be carefully cared for. He liked the alternative much better; a brush of an angel’s fingers and everything was fixed.

“I could always help you out with that.”

The voice that boomed into the quiet restroom sent adrenaline pumping through Dean. He reached for his angel blade secured in his belt, swiveled around, and pointed it at the woman now in the corner. His chest throbbed with pain, causing him to lean forward, grimace, and clutch his angel blade tighter.

“Michael,” Dean whispered under his breath as he noticed the angel’s form.


	24. Failures and Tries

__

_Twenty days since Dean awoke, Free from Michael_

“You’re not real,” Dean said firmly, staring at the woman in the corner. In truth, it was no woman. The smile across her face revealed Michael.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

“You’re not really here,” Dean articulated.

“Now that’s true, but I don’t need to be.” The woman stepped out of the shadows. Dean felt a throb of pain pulse through his chest. He hissed at the air. “Come on, Dean! You think that pretty little symbol on your chest is gonna help you? No. I’m going to rip it off, and then we’ll be together once again.”

“Seems to me like that’s an empty threat at this point. How long have you been saying that again?” Dean abandoned his mocking tone for something more serious, “Why are you here, Michael?”

He pursed his lips. “I suppose to brag.”

Dean rolled his eyes and huffed. “I thought you already did that?”

“I know you’re getting close.” He ignored Dean’s comment. “Close to that magic weapon.” He was smiling like he knew something Dean didn’t. “But trust me when I tell you, Dean, this will end in pain for you.”

“Like that’s new.”

“Surrender, Dean.”

“What?”

“You think you’re just going to find that weapon and kill me with it? Please. Even if you do get to it- you know what it does. Oh, Dean, so noble, sacrificing yourself for the mess that you started. Trust me, your plan will fall apart. How long do you think you can keep the weapon’s nature away from your brother? And when he finds out, he won’t let you die. By then, I’ll have slaughtered all your little friends. I’ll have taken Jack as my new hostage. I’ll warp him into my own little soldier… eventually. It may take centuries, but I’ll be sure to make him mine. Then you’ll have a choice to make. Your brother’s soul for a dead me or us, forever. Based on your track record, I know exactly which one you’ll choose.” Michael had walked up to Dean’s angel blade, still outstretched. The angel smiled as he fell forward into the blade. It passed through him like nothingness, perhaps because he was nothingness, all just messing with Dean’s head.

Dean stared into those black eyes. Dean could see Michael’s pride reflected in them.

“So come with me now, and we’ll spare all that. I promise to make you a nice little place in your brain where you’ll live peacefully-”

“And you’ll still murder my family.”

“You won’t know the difference. I’ll even let you be with your family… just like heaven.” Dean scowled at Michael’s words. “Or I promise to make your life a living hell. I know what makes you tick, Dean, which means I know what makes you break.”

Dean smiled. He let go of his angel blade, which stayed in Michael’s chest. “I think I’ll take my chances with our murder plan. But, hey, thanks for checking in with me.”

“So be it. To the last battle, Dean Winchester. May the best of us win.”

Then he was gone. Dean fell forward, lifting his hand to his burning chest. He stopped his hand before they could touch the wounds but kept it hovering in front of his chest. Sqinching his eyes together, he took small deep breaths.

***

Sam woke in the parked Impala, feeling the cool breeze drift through the open windows. He groggily shook out his half-asleep hand and looked around. They were at a gas station, a really shitty one that most people must have passed thinking it was already closed down, but a gas station nonetheless.

Sam got out of the car, stretching his arms behind him. He stared at the dented front of the car, feeling guilt, or perhaps more shame, pulse through him. Dean had pitched a fit when he saw it, but it wasn’t bad enough that they couldn’t drive, and Dean would be able to fix it when they got back.

It wasn’t long that Sam stood there before Dean joined him, walking out of the side of the building, presumably from the restroom. Sam’s brother looked drained and haunted, stumbling towards the car.

“Let me drive,” Sam offered.

“What? And run over another person? No thanks.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “It was Michael, and it helped us get away.”

Dean placed his arms on the hood of the Impala, head resting in his hands.

“I promise I won’t wreck the car. Anyway, I can probably see more straight than you can. Half and half seems fair,” he added.

There was a moment more of Dean standing still, leaning against the Impala’s hood before he finally submitted and tossed the keys to his brother. They landed perfectly in Sam’s palm. Sam smiled, knowing at least he had won one battle.

***

A few hours later, Sam stepped out of the Impala’s driver seat, his boot crunching on the pine needles underfoot. They had parked at a trailhead. Jody was staring at them by her truck.

“Sam,” she said affectionately as he walked up to her and she pulled him into a hug.

A moment later, she went for Dean, who was looking much more well-rested than before. He put out his hand before she could put her arms around him. A questioning look filled her face.

“Dean’s got burns on his chest,” Sam explained.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Burns?”

“It’s fine, Jody,” Dean replied, “What you got for us?”

Jody looked at Dean for a moment before answering, “Apparently there have been some sightings of a figure in the woods out here. As the sheriff tells it, two hikers were out here when they stumbled upon a camp. According to the hikers, it looked like someone had been living in the woods, feeding off animals, and they mentioned weird symbols around the camp. They reported a figure dressed in black that threatened them with a knife before they ran. When they sent people out here to check it out, they found nothing. Assumed it was a prank. There have been some other people who reported seeing sightings of a person dressed in black in the woods, but nothing as descriptive as that one.”

“Great. So, witch.”

“Why would she be a witch?” Sam looked to his brother with squinted eyes.

“Uh, Billie told me,” Dean added.

“Great. Anything else Billie told you?”

“No. You know her, not much of a talker.”

Sam took a sharp inhale. He knew his brother well. Well enough to know when he was lying, or, at least not telling the whole truth. He bit his bottom lip before Jody said, “Well, I don’t know who Billie is, but I guess we should start our search where the hikers saw the camp?”

Sam shrugged and gestured for Jody to lead the way.

“So how have you boys been?” Jody asked.

“Same ol’, same ol’,” Dean gave the answer.

“And what are the burns from?”

“Protection against Michael,” Dean answered bluntly.

Jody stopped for a second before moving again. “That’s a thing?”

“Now it is. But it only protects against possession.”

“Ah.”

Sam was pretty sure he knew what was going through her head: wondering if anything would help Claire or, to be honest, any of them. Michael didn’t want to possess Claire, though; he wanted to do something much worse. “How is Claire?” Sam wondered.

“Honestly, I forgot how much a pain in the ass the girl can be when she wants to hunt but can’t.” Sam and Dean snickered. “But we’re gonna get this weapon and kill Michael, and then it’ll all be good.”

***

Books about ancient languages, spells related to angels, and anything else tied to that damn spell, were starting to get on Jack’s last nerve. He slammed another one of them shut and looked over at the spell sitting on the table. Anger throbbed through him.

Cas must have caught him staring at the evil piece of paper. He said, “Jack, you made a mistake. We all do that.”

Jack scoffed and shook his head. No words. There was nothing to say.

After a moment of silence, Cas asked softly, “Why did you do it, Jack?”

It was an innocent question. Jack knew that. But he also knew that it was very lightly laced with disappointment, the very thing that burned a hole into Jack’s soul more than anything else. “I wanted to help,” he explained once more.

Jack could sense that Cas wanted to say something more, but the opening of the door stopped him. The young prophet, Rosa, entered, looking lost. When she registered Cas and Jack, her face lit up. “Cas!” She exclaimed.

“Rosa,” Cas acknowledged the girl with a calm voice, “Did you sleep well?”

“Uh, yeah.” She looked around.

Cas nodded. “This is Jack. My, uh, my son.”

Slight warmth rushed through Jack at the words, destroying only a fraction of the shame that seemed forever inside him.

“Hi,” Rosa answered awkwardly. In fact, Jack felt that everything about the girl was somewhat awkward. She seemed to exude the feeling that she didn’t want to be there and that she was uncomfortable. Jack couldn’t really blame her. If he was in the same position, he would probably feel the same. Meanwhile, she examined the shelves of the storeroom. “What is it you guys do here, anyway?” She asked cautiously.

Jack looked back down at his book. “Hunt monsters.”

“Monsters? Like Michael?”

“Yes,” Cas answered.

“And others,” Jack pointed out.

The girl sighed. “Great, there are ‘others’.” Rosa looked around the room once more, as if questioning it all.

Jack felt Cas go ridged at his side. He looked up to the angel who was staring out into space, unblinkingly, as if listening. Jack knew that look; Cas was listening to angel radio. Jack had once felt a sharp pain when the angels conversed with their telepathic powers, but he had long since learned how to stop that. If only he knew what kind of message Cas was hearing. Presumably, something meant just for him, but all angels were under Michael’s thumb.

Jack bit the side of his cheek. “What is it?”

Cas raised a brow. He shrugged off the question, answering, “Nothing. I must- I have to go speak with Mary, though.” Cas quickly vacated the room, leaving Jack alone with the prophet.

Jack grumbled and looked down at his book. He had little faith that any answer would be found in any written text. He wished that Dean could still use Michael’s grace to get information out of Toby. No. He stopped that thought. That was never a good plan. That was a stupid thought.

“So, you’re a hunter then?” Rosa asked, pulling Jack out of his pensive state.

Jack shrugged. “I guess.”

“I woulda thought hunters would be older, or something.” Rosa walked towards the table and looked down at the books.

“Some are, others are younger, especially if they were raised to be hunters.”

Rosa turned to Jack with shock saturating her face. “You were raised like this?”

“Yes, Cas and Sam and Dean have raised me.”

The prophet seemed to consider the information for a second. She had come so far. She had learned so much about the supernatural, and yet that was what surprised her?

Jack sighed. “Michael should never have captured you,” he said it more to himself, overwhelmed by the reoccurring thought that he should have killed Michael back in the other world, then none of this would be happening.

“It doesn’t really matter at this point, does it?” She didn’t say it cruelly, rather as a fact. “What does a prophet do anyway?”

“Heaven stuff mostly. They-” Jack looked from the prophet to the spell on the table, quickly picking it up he extended it out to Rosa. “Can you read this?”

She looked down at the paper. “No. Never seen anything like it.”

Jack dropped his shoulders.

“Sorry.”

Jack put the spell back on the table. “It is not your fault.”

“Seems like that’s what I’m here for though, translating ‘heaven stuff’.”

“You’re here so that Sam and Dean can keep you safe from Michael, so that he can’t use you or harm you.”

“And what if they can’t?”

“Can’t what?”

“Keep me safe?”

“They will, Rosa. Sam and Dean are good people. They will protect you.”

The prophet didn’t look all that convinced. “What do I do until it’s ‘safe’ then?”

Jack shrugged. “Read? There are books in this place about almost anything you can imagine. Here-” Jack walked back to one of the bookshelves. “-this one’s about zombies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to probably stop posting every Sunday, I only have a few chapters left so they should be posted soon.


	25. Battle Calling

_Twenty days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

Dean halted in front of Sam, looking around. “Did you guys hear that?” He asked softly.

They had been in the forest for a couple of hours now, roaming through the trees. It felt like they were going in circles, searching for any sign of the witch they were looking for. Unfortunately, there really wasn’t much to do but wander around. They found some footprints, but they could have easily belonged to hikers instead of a witch.

Sam tried to strain his ears, but there was nothing, save the normal forest sounds around them. His eyes drifted through the trees until they fell on the figure clad in black, a spear pulled back, ready to be plunged towards them.

Dean yelled, “Jody, get down.” As he pulled her to the ground and the spear flew above their heads, landing headfirst in the ground behind them. Sam swirled back to where the figure stood. But the figure was gone. Sam furrowed his brow and turned to his brother.

Jody and Dean pulled out their guns, pointing them to the figure who was now in front of them. Sam reached for his gun. His fingers stopped on the cold metal handle of the gun before he could pull it out. He knew that spear, and he knew this figure. He swallowed hard. “You killed Kaia.”

Jody looked back at Sam in surprise. This was the person Dean and him had met in the alternate world, the one who had tied them up to be fed to some monster, and the one that later murdered Kaia. Sam ground his teeth. 

The witch lifted their arms.

“Ah, but these are witch-killing bullets,” Dean warned as he exaggerated the gun he pointed.

The figure’s hands went up in surrender, their spear dropped to the ground. Then, once more, they lifted their hands to their hood, slowly pulling it away.

“What the hell?” Dean mumbled.

“How-?” Jody stammered as she stared at the perfect clone of Kaia herself.

The girl’s smile gleamed her eyes with pride. Sam didn’t necessarily see her move, but the next thing he knew, Dean and Jody’s feet had been kicked out from under them as they fell to the ground. Kaia’s double had retaken her spear and turned to run. This time Sam grabbed his gun. The shot rang through the woods, causing birds to abandon the trees and “Kaia” to tumble to the forest floor.

Sam picked up speed, running after her. She rolled on the ground for a moment, grunting in pain and grabbing at the leaking bullet wound in her shoulder. Sam skidded to a halt by her side, staring down at her.

Anger washed over her face. Her fingers wrapped around her spear and swung it forward, trying to slice Sam. He leaned back to miss its path.

“Do not move, or I will kill you.” Sam turned his head, finding Jody and his brother had caught up. Dean had his gun out again and was pointing it to the false Kaia on the ground.

She sneered. “Do what you want, Dean Winchester, but you will not get what you want from me.”

***

They confiscated the spear from Dark Kaia and tied her to one of the trees, sincerely hoping no hiker would somehow wander by.

The sun had taken refuge behind the clouds that littered the western horizon, creating a premature evening chill in the air. Jody, Dean, and Sam stared down at the ever-scowling girl.

“How are you- What are you?” Jody stammered.

“She’s a witch,” Dean hissed like the words were made of poison.

“Here, I suppose that’s what you’d call me. But I don’t believe that is what she was asking.” Kaia’s dark eyes fell on Jody. “I am not her. I am not your Kaia.”

“You’re her double. Kaia from that other world,” Sam explained.

Jody looked at him wide-eyed, then back to Kaia. “Why did you kill her?” Her voice sounded like shattered pieces of glass.

“I did not mean to. She- she was everything to me. I would never have killed her. She got in the way.”

“In the way?” Sam looked at her with a furrowed brow of uneasiness. He had been there; he knew what that meant.

“I was trying to kill the blonde.”

Jody looked like she swallowed something sour. Sam looked to his brother. “Do we kill her? We just need the spear, right?”

“Wrong.” Sam looked back down to Kaia. “The spear is mine. You cannot have it.”

“Uh, you’re tied up, princess,” Dean noted.

The witch chuckled. “The spear is bound to me and my power. You want to use it to kill Michael, right? You can’t… unless I give it to you.”

“I don’t get it,” Sam said, “Michael went after you. You stabbed him. Obviously you’re not friends, so why not help us kill him?”

“Why should I give up what’s mine for weak men like you to kill an archangel? It’s pointless.”

“No.” Dean took a step forward. He walked with a new confidence; he had figured something out. “You came here for a reason. You want something.”

Kaia pursed her lips. She looked from Dean to Jody to Sam. “You think you’ll kill Michael, and that will be it?” She looked straight into Dean’s eyes. “You know what will happen. You cannot handle it. And when you fail, Michael will have everything he wants. . . including my spear.”

“No, we’ll kill him first.”

“Even if you do, what assurance do I have you will do anything for me then? That you will even give back what is mine? That you will not blame me for what happens next?”

Sam stared at the girl. He was beginning to lose what she was talking about. More than ever, Sam was sure that Dean had withheld some important piece of information. He chewed at his cheek.

“What do you want?” Dean asked simply.

She looked around the group again. “I want to go home.”

Sam tilted his head with confusion. “Didn’t you get here yourself?”

“My magic doesn’t work here. Not the same, at least. I can do some, but I cannot open a rift.” She paused as if reviewing her situation. “I thought maybe going back to where I came through would help, but I can’t get home.”

“Why go home, anyway? You came here for a reason.”

“Things have changed. There are… things I have to do back home.” She quickly changed to a more urgent tone, “The boy, the one who brought you to my world, he can take me home.”

Dean didn’t hesitate, “Fine. We’ll get you home in exchange for the spear.”

Kaia shook her head in disbelief. “I have your word?”

Dean gave a brief nod.

“Untie me.”

Sam gave his brother one wary look before crouching down and cutting the ropes. Kaia lifted up her spear and stood. Sam clenched every muscle in his body, anticipating a fight. Instead, the woman held out the spear for Dean.

Dean reached for it, but she pulled it back. “You are a fool, Dean Winchester. You and your soul are governed by fear and nothing else. This weapon is nothing more than another risk, another gamble, another faulty reprieve from your fear. But you pay it willingly?” Dean swallowed hard. She handed him the spear, then looked at Sam. “You will bring it back to me, or I will slaughter you.”

Sam gritted his teeth. Then she turned and left. Sam turned to his brother, who grasped the spear in one hand as he watched the witch go. Jody stood a little behind them, her gun hanging slack at her side, her eyes orbs reflecting hollowness and hurt.

***

“You alright, Jody?” Sam asked as they finally made their way out of the trail, back to the parked cars. It was well dark now; the moon gave shine to the Impala’s black gloss.

“No,” she answered softly. Sam stood with her at her truck while Dean was already at the Impala. “I just- seeing her again. I fear every day that one of the girls… that something will happen to them. With Kaia, I didn’t even get to know her. I feel like I lost before I even began. And Claire… I have no idea what I’m supposed to tell her. But she has a right to know Kaia’s killer’s still out there.”

Sam softly nodded.

“But you boys got your own stuff to worry about.”

“Jody-”

“Sam.” She looked at him sternly. “You boys have to go kick Michael in the ass. Me, the girls, we’ll be okay.”

Sam smiled at her and pulled her into one last hug before joining Dean at the Impala.

“See ya, Jody.” Dean waved.

“Take care. And give Michael a piece of our minds!”

Sam’s door slammed shut. Jody’s car’s engine started, rumbling through the night.

“Did this seem incredibly easy to you?” Dean stared out the front. His hand hovered in front of his chest as though wanting to touch the still-fresh wounds there. He rubbed his finger with his thumb.

“Huh,” Sam scoffed, “No. We still gotta find Michael and figure out how to get Kaia to her home. And you promised something to Kaia that we cannot give her, or that we won’t.” Sam watched Dean pensively. “You got something on your mind, Dean?”

“No,” he answered quietly.

“Really? Maybe something about the spear?”

“Sam, if you have something to say, would you just say it?”

“Okay, how about, what does it do?”

“What does what do? The Spear? It kills Michael.”

Sam huffed. “Well, Kaia seemed to think you knew something I don’t.”

Dean pursed his lips. “I think I know a lot you don’t, Sam.”

Sam shook his head in annoyance. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Sam. It’s a spear. You stab things with it.”

“And it’s magic? Where does that come from? What does it do?”

Dean stared out the front window for a moment. Then he put the keys into the ignition and fired up the car.

“You’re just not gonna answer? Great.” Sam huffed. “You know I’ll figure it out anyway.”

Dean still stared out the window, unhearing Sam. Sam turned to look out his window, his mind running with possibilities of what the spear meant, but Dean still refused to answer as he sat brooding in the driver’s seat.

***

Rosa was standing in some park, admiring the beauty around her. She walked down the dirt path, finding a bench in front of her. A man sat there, dressed in a fine three-piece suit that looked overdressed for the park. She stopped and stared at him for a moment until she realized she knew him. Her blood went cold as she stared at Michael, wearing the only face she had ever known, Dean Winchester’s.

“I had a brother once,” he spoke coolly. He looked at Rosa. “Please, I only came to talk, Rosa.”

She swallowed, looking around, wondering where she could run to.

“My brother and I were close, like you and your sister,” Michael continued. “Unfortunately, he died. Well, he was actually ripped apart. Tell me, Rosa, what would you do to save your sister from a fate like that?”

“You-”

“Ah.” Michael held up a finger. “It’s a serious question. Because I can just kill her now, or you can help me and get her back.”

“She’s safe.”

“Oh no, Rosa. Your Winchester heroes saved you but forgot about your family. It’s a flaw of theirs. Did you ever ask the Winchesters what became of the other prophets? Because they’re dead. All of them. Died horribly too. Just like the rest of them, you will die, Rosa. Because to the Winchester’s, you are only a tool.”

“And I’m not to you?”

“I don’t need that much else from you, Rosa. Help me, you will save your sister and get to go back to whatever version of life you lived before all this. Does that sound like a good trade?”

Rosa watched him. As much as she did not want to admit it, he was right. She owed nothing to the Winchesters, and the safe house they brought her to felt more like another version of a prison than anything else. Jack was nice. Cas was nice too. But kindness wouldn’t save her sister from Michael.

“What do you want?” She asked.

Michael smiled. “A way in.”

***

Castiel stood in an alley as the angel came between one of the buildings to join him. After hearing the angel’s call, Cas went to Mary to speak about plans of whether or not he should meet with him. Eventually, they decided he should, and Cas had driven out.

Cas stared at Selanthiel, ready to pull out his angel blade at any moment. “You asked to meet with me,” he said.

“Yes, Castiel. Thank you for coming.”

“What I don’t understand, Selanthiel, is why you would want to help us? I thought you believed in Michael’s lie of a better world.”

“I did. But, I was fooled.” The angel stood stiff and looking around at the buildings as though there were assassins waiting to kill him at Castiel’s word. “Michael has created monsters and branded them as angels. He will ruin everything if we let him go on.”

Cas tried to study the angel’s face for his true motives. Selanthiel had spoken with true vigor last time they had met, and he had done Michael’s dirty work for months. It seemed like a leap that he would change sides now. “How will you help us?”

That made the angel’s face give a bit in confusion. “I can tell you what he has planned.”

“Why would we trust anything you have to say?”

“Because I have seen what Michael has done-”

“But not too long ago, you were willing to help him.” Cas took a step to Selanthiel. “I know you, Selanthiel. Throughout all creation, you have worked for Naomi. You always will. So did she change sides? If so, why didn’t you lead with that? What is your purpose for calling me here?”

“I have never wanted to kill-”

“You think me a fool, Selanthiel? I know what you did after The Fall. With the angel factions, how many you killed. Have you lost your taste for blood since then?”

“Perhaps I grew tired of it, brother. Just as you did. Just as you grew tired of the lies. What do you accuse me of? I have come to you in good faith.”

“No, I don’t believe you have. Because your reputation precedes you, Selanthiel. You and Naomi are the same. The ends justify the means to you, they always have and they always will.”

Selanthiel sighed; an angel blade slipped out of his sleeve. Cas summoned his as well. “Would you believe I actually see a likeness in us, Castiel? Yes, I have killed our brothers and our sisters. Yes, I have sided with some, but I have only ever killed those necessary-”

“So you will kill me?”

“That’s not why I am here.” Castiel studied him once more, but his face was of stone. “Tell me, how long did it take you to drive here?”

Something clicked in Cas’s mind.

“We are on opposite sides, Castiel. But I believe the damage is already done or at least will be by the time you get back. Why did you come if you expected me not to be truthful? Now, they will all die.”

Castiel took one last look at the angel and knew he was right. He should have never left, no matter what Mary and him thought they could learn from the angel. Yes, they had thought Castiel was walking into a trap, but they hadn’t considered it was only a diversion. After all, the Bunker was one of the most secure places on Earth. Every piece of Castiel told him to kill the angel where he stood, but instead, he took off back towards his car with the seeping fearful reminder of how long the drive back would take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, but finally posting this!  
> I had this whole backstory for Dark Kaia that I couldn't really fit in, maybe I'll write a fic about it some other time.


	26. Soul Magic

__

_Twenty days since Dean awoke, free from Michael_

She stood in the center of the clearing, huddling over the fire and scraping the bottom of a soup can.

“I didn’t come to fight.” Michael’s voice, or rather Dean’s, rang through the woods and the make-shift camp. The woman’s hand quickly went to her spear. Her black cloak unfurled over her as she stood to full length. “I am the archangel, Michael. I’ve come to make you on offer.” Her brown eyes continued to watch Michael like a cat, gathering information about her enemy before pouncing. Michael gestured to the camp. “You live here in squalor; I could change all that. You and I are alike. We come from places different than here, but we do not have to be rejected. Join me, and we can have it all.”

“Maybe that’s not what I want,” She answered softly, still glaring at Michael.

“You’re an outcast. Every outcast wants a place.”

Kaia brought her spear closer to Michael, in position to run him through. The archangel smiled and stared down at the piece of bone. “Interesting thing. Soul magic, right?” He looked into Kaia’s brown eyes. “Quite a price to pay for a hunk of bone.”

Kaia thrusted the spear forward. Michael’s wings flapped as he avoided the deadly end of the spear. Kaia, however, was not caught off guard. She swung the spear to Michael’s new position, missing him only by a hair. Kaia lunged again with a sharp, calculated movement. Michael blocked her blow and smiled as though there was nothing greater than the thrill of their fight. Another swing; another miss. Michael laughed. Kaia plunged the spear forward until it hit true in Michael’s gut…

The dream shifted until Dean was staring at a young Italian woman sporting ripped jeans and a loose tee shirt.

“This isn’t what I signed up for, Michael.” Kris’s brown hair was whipped to the side by the wind.

Michael scoffed.

“One word, Michael: _revenge_. What in the hell do you expect me to do to _Lucifer’s son_?”

He turned around. Her cuts and bruises from her torture were now gone, and she dangled a cigarette in her fingers, rolling it between them in something that resembled what Michael felt was close to human anxiousness.

“He’s a threat to everything,” Michael explained as Kris popped the cigarette into her mouth. “Plus, Dean cares about him. You hurt him, you hurt Dean.”

Kris rolled her eyes. “And what exactly is your plan to take down Lucifer’s son?”

“I’m working on it.”

“‘Working on it’? Really?”

“Yes. Tell me, Kris, have you ever heard of soul magic?”

She gave him a flat glare. “No.”

Michael nodded. “I’m just learning about it now, but I think it’ll be very useful for us in taking down the Nephilim. I expect you to gain their trust so we can do so.”

“Fine. Whatever. And how would you like me to get the little bastards to trust me?”

“I don’t care. Make up some story about being on their side. Don’t worry, they’re desperate, they will trust you if it is necessary. Play the long game, Kris. We have all the time in the world to bring the Winchesters crashing down.”

“And Dean?”

“He is mine. Now and forever. You hurt him and break his spirit. But I get him in the end. That is the deal. Do you understand?”

“Sure as hell, Captain.” She saluted, and Michael watched her go, listening to the unfailingly annoying struggles of the drowning man inside his head...

Dean woke with a jolt as if the memories electrified him. He had slept shallowly in the passenger seat. Like before, Dean had driven half the way but could only take so much before Sam traded places with him. The topic of the spear still had not been brought back up. Well, not verbally, at least. Sam still gave Dean glares of frustration.

Dean tried not to look at his brother while he sat up straight. His wounds were flecked with pain, but it was nothing he couldn’t deal with. He watched the road-side shrubbery as the Impala zoomed past.

“ _Soul magic_ ,” he whispered, realizing what he had just learned from his god damned memories.

“What?” Sam asked.

“That goddamn son of a bitch.”

“Dean, what the hell are you talking about?” Sam asked, exasperated with the peppering of a cross tone.

“‘I learned it from a friend of ours’.” Sam looked at him with a flat face, clearly done with any of his bull shit. Dean was about to explain, but his cell’s ringing interrupted him. He pulled it out of his pocket and answered it.

“Dean?” Cas asked on the other line.

“Yeah.”

“Where are you guys?”

“I don’t know. Sam, where are we?”

“Outside Red Cloud,” Sam answered with a blunt tone as he looked out across the road.

“You hear that?” Dean asked Cas. 

“Yes. Dean, listen, I think Michael might be making a move on the Bunker.”

“What? What do you mean ‘think’? Aren’t you there?”

“No- I-” For the first time, Dean noticed the panic in his friend’s voice. “I had to leave, and now I think Michael is going to attack the Bunker, if he hasn’t already.”

“Why the hell would you leave?”

“It’s not important,” Cas answered defensively.

Meanwhile Sam asked, “What’s going on?”

Dean put his finger up to Sam.

“Have you called Mom? Or anyone?”

“They’re not answering.” Cas said in a small voice.

“God dammit, Cas!”

Cas ignored him. “I should be there soon. But- do you have the weapon?”

“Yes. Any other life-threatening news we should know?”

“No.”

“Great,” Dean hissed. Then he hung up and tossed his phone onto the Impala’s back seat as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What’d he say?” Sam asked wide-eyed.

“Put the pedal to the metal, that’s what.”

***

Mary kept her gun pointing at the door. She looked over her shoulder as Spencer fumbled with getting the angel-killing bullets in his gun.

“We’re gonna be fine,” she informed the AU Hunter.

“‘Gonna be fine’. Right. Because so many people who have fought Michael and his garrisons have been ‘fine’?”

Mary knew that Spencer had watched his entire family get murdered by angels, but this wasn’t the time to be pissing one’s pants; this was time to be fighting. She grabbed his flannel-wrapped arm. “We’re gonna go out there and kick Michael’s ass. And we are going to win. You have survived this long, Spencer. You’re gonna survive this too.”

Spencer nodded and swallowed. “Mary, we can’t kill those things. They're like super-monster-angels.”

“Then we get out as many people as we can.”

Spencer gave a reluctant nod, and Mary pulled open the door out of their safe refuge in the room.

The halls were quiet now, which was concerning. The Bunker’s red warning lights gave the halls an eerie look, but Mary stalked down them as quietly as she could, Spencer at her back.

“Mary!” The harsh whisper came from behind. Mary spun, pointing her gun at Charlie’s chest. She sighed.

In the red blaring of the emergency lights in the Bunker, Charlie’s hair looked like glowing fire. Just behind her was Jack and the hunter, Rhea. They both had guns in their hands and, thankfully, looked unharmed.

“Have you found anyone else?” Charlie questioned Mary.

She shook her head.

“The witch isn’t still here by any luck, is she?”

“Rowena left this morning.”

Charlie sighed and looked back to Rhea. “Guess we’ll have to deal with this on our own.”

“Deal with it? We cannot kill Michael’s minions. Or Michael for that matter,” Spencer repeated in a harsh whisper.

“He only has three of them,” Rhea informed them, “I saw one headed down to the prison, probably to get the prisoner minion we have down there. That’s four- plus Michael-”

“I say we make a run for it.”

“And the others?” Charlie asked, looking at Spencer.

“C’mon, Charlie. We cannot save them.”

“We can’t go,” Jack spoke up. “We can’t leave people behind. Michael… maybe we can offer a trade?”

“What does that mean?” Mary looked at the boy with wide eyes.

“Michael might agree to take me and leave the rest.”

“Jack, no.”

“Why? It’s worth a shot. And it’s what Sam and Dean would do.”

“Well Sam and Dean aren’t here-”

“Shhhh.” Charlie put her finger to her mouth, listening. Footsteps echoed softly down a hall nearby.

Mary felt her body tense. She gestured for the rest to follow as they took off down the Bunker’s hall in the other direction.

***

Rosa wasn’t sure what she was holding, but it was a weapon, and that was good enough for her. It was some sort of sword, that on any other day, Rosa would be admiring instead of holding it up in anticipation to stab someone, or something. But, her life had been pretty weird lately.

So, Rosa Sanchez held her sword out, ready to thrust it into the person whose footsteps she could hear echoing down the hall.

The door handle turned. Rosa’s muscles tensed. She lunged the sword forward, and it caught the man in front of her straight in the chest. She pulled the sword back as it dropped from her now shaking hands to the ground. The man looked up at her, red blood leaking in front of his shirt.

Then his arm swung to hit her. She lunged to the floor, her survival instincts working overtime. A cold hand wrapped around her ankle and pulled her back. She screamed and attempted to kick the man.

“Ah,” Rosa heard the voice from the hall.

The man stopped trying to grab her. A woman stepped into the doorway.

“Rosa.” The woman smiled.

“Michael?”

The woman smiled wider and gestured to herself. “Not as suiting as the Winchester suit, I know. But I still like the look. Not to worry anyway, Dean’ll be mine soon.”

“How did-?”

Michael scoffed. “I thought we had a deal? I thought you were gonna let me in, Rosa. But you skipped out on me.”

“Seems like you made off well enough anyway.”

“You thought you were the only one I contacted?”

Rosa shook her head.

“Riley. A hunter who lives here let me in.”

“But these people, they’re-”

“The Winchester’s friends? Please. Riley knows what I can do. That’s what power is, Rosa… applying pressure in the right places.” Michael took a step closer to Rosa. “You may have not let me in, but that’s my point. You’re expendable. All of you are.” Michael reached down.

Rosa flung out her hands and tried to fight, but Michael grabbed her by her hair and pulled her up. She screamed, but the angel was too strong.

“Let it go, Rosa. We’re almost done after all.”

***

“What does it do, Dean?”

“Excuse me?”

“The spear! We are walking into a fight with Michael. If you do not tell me what the down-side is to that goddamned spear, I will make sure that neither you or it ever gets anywhere close to Michael.”

Dean sighed and began tapping his finger on his thigh. They did not have time for this. Sam was practically driving like a grandma. Well, he was going at least eighty, but it didn’t help Dean’s burning need to be behind the wheel with his own foot on the pedal.

“Dean!”

“God dammit, Sam! It’s soul magic.” He didn’t know why he said it. He could have easily lied. But, perhaps Kaia was right. Perhaps there was fear that ate at him inside. Maybe he just didn’t want to face that fear alone.

“I- What does that mean?”

“It uses your soul.”

“So if Michael dies - you don’t have a soul?” Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Sam cut him off. “That is not happening, ever!”

“According to Billie, the sigil on my chest draws too much of my soul, or grace attached to it or something. Point is, using the spear on Michael won’t leave me soulless. I’ll die.”

“Because that’s so much better?” Sam asked sarcastically.

“At least there won’t be a soulless person running around.”

Sam shook his head. “We’re gonna find another way.”

“We don’t have time! This is it, now.”

“No. I won’t accept it.”

“Sam, you gotta let me do this.” Sam shook his head. “I started this mess by letting Michael in! God dammit, Sam, this is my responsibility!”

“You didn’t start anything, Dean! Michael got here because we made a choice together to leave Lucifer behind. You said yes to Michael to save us. You made a decision, and now that has impacted all of us.” Dean was about to tell him that was the point, but Sam continued. “I am not done,” Sam spat him into silence. “We do this together. No one is dying. No sacrifices. Together or not at all. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Dean stared at his brother. He had never seen him quite so angry. He had seen him scream and yell and go off, but he had never seen him put his foot down like this. He had never seen him demand something like that. For a moment, Dean’s little brother reminded him shockingly of his father.

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Let me work on it.”

Dean ran his hand through his hair. The inside of the Impala suddenly felt suffocating. Thoughts and fears and emotions building on each other and into a discomforting product. “Sam,” Dean spoke in an attempt to severe the growing discomfort. “I, uh, think Michael wants Jack.”

“What does that mean?”

“Michael said something to me about Jack’s spell.”

“What? When?”

“In, uh, dreams, I guess. It’s not important. The point is I think that Jack’s spell has something to do with soul magic.”

“As in taking his soul?”

“I dunno, Sam. That’s just what I remember.”

Sam huffed but then sat there quietly as if thinking about everything that had just been thrown at him.

***

Cas’s truck came skitting up to the Bunker only seconds after the Impala’s lights turned off. As Cas scampered out of his truck, angel blade already in hand, Sam pulled a long spear from the back of the Impala. 

Cas stared at the odd-looking spear as he approached the Winchesters. Even in the darkness, he could tell Dean was scowling at him.

“Why the hell did you leave?” Dean asked with dead, hard beats in each word.

“I- I thought I could help, but, well, I was wrong. It seemed improbable that Michael would attack the Bunker, which he shouldn’t be able to get into anyway.”

Dean took a deep breath.

Sam cut them off, “It doesn’t matter. We have a plan, so let’s go.”

“Yeah, a dumb plan,” Dean tried to point out.

“It’s not dumb.” Sam glared at his brother. Cas looked to Dean, expecting another comment, but he stayed silent. “Just follow our lead Cas,” Sam continued.

***

Castiel grasped his angel blade tighter as he walked over the threshold of the Bunker’s metal door. They had already overridden the lockdown that the Bunker was in, but it had not stopped the Bunker from giving off its blaring red lights in warning to the inhabitants. Sam and Dean carried on in front of him until they reached the balcony where Sam stopped cold. Dean looked over the balcony and then at Sam. He whispered a “come on.” and turned to walk down the stairs.

Cas followed them, stopping at the edge of the balcony to stare down at the two dead hunters lying on the Crow’s Nest’s floor. Their hollow eyes shining with the Bunker’s red lights as they stared up blankly at the Heavens. Their dark stab wounds were barely noticeable in the shadows.

Cas swallowed and followed the brothers down the stairs. Sam still held the peculiar spear that jetted into the Bunker with an out-of-place aura. Cas didn’t like the thing. It seemed to scream some sort of awful magnetic energy that was cloaked in malicious intent.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Dean pulled out his gun and began looking around. Sam grabbed his angel blade out of his belt as they moved forward. Each of them spread out across the Crow’s Nest, checking the area. Cas bent down to check Riley’s pulse. There was nothing, and absolutely nothing Cas could do for him now.

“Where’d you think everyone is?” Dean asked gruffly.

No one answered.

Then a hand grabbed at Cas’s shoulder and yanked him back. Cas’s blade fell from his hand. He felt a sharp blade’s edge press against his throat.

“Cas!” Dean called.

Meanwhile, Sam had his own thoughts. He yelled, “Now, Dean!”

Cas stared at the Art Deco ceiling with its flashes of red and black as Dean said, “Put the blade down. Put it down.” Dean gasped, but the blade at Cas’s throat slipped away. He scrambled to get back up, grabbing his fallen blade as he went.

Dean was crouching forward, hand hovering over his chest. Cas looked wide-eyed behind him at his assailant. A man stood there with a blank face.

Sam stepped forward and held out the spear while Dean whimpered, “Kill Michael with the spear.”

The man’s, or minion’s, hand curled over the base of the spear. Dean let out another groan and fell to the floor.

Sam was by his side in an instant. Cas ran towards him as well, while the zombie-like man took off in the other direction.

Dean’s face was squinched with pain, and he pulled at his shirt.

“You gotta hang on, Dean.” Sam looked from his brother to Cas. “Can you do something without getting rid of the sigil?”

“I can try.” Cas placed his first two fingers on Dean’s forehead.


End file.
